


Fly Through My Window

by griffle



Series: Fly Through My Window Universe [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Aged-Up Character(s), Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Also child acquisition is now called "pulling a Bruce", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Batfamily (DCU) Bonding, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson got shot in the head, Dick Grayson is NOT ric grayson, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Duke Thomas is Signal, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Issues, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, Impulsive Child Acquisition, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Light Angst, Mostly Pre-52, Red Robin's Glider Cape, Shamelessly picking from the various canons, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim has a Child, child oc, it's in chapter 4, more like, referenced misgendering, transgender OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffle/pseuds/griffle
Summary: She pulls out a leather bound book, a small Robin sticker in the center of the red cover. Flipping it open to a page, she peers at Jason, raising an eyebrow as she clicks a matching pen."What's your availability during the week?"Figures Replacement's kid has a planner._________Tim acquires a child. Everyone else learns at their own pace.
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Everyone, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Kate Kane, Tim Drake & OC
Series: Fly Through My Window Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023856
Comments: 74
Kudos: 343





	1. Jason

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle. I know this isn't crack, but I worked hard on this. 
> 
> I have other chapters in the process of edits/working, so it's actually almost done?
> 
> I just. Going to leave this there.
> 
> ALSO: fuck, this is like, future? Tim is like 23 and everyone else is also older. 
> 
> Also, also: I don't have a beta, so please excuse any weird grammar issues. I'm slowly going through the fic and correcting them. 
> 
> Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Windows still make good doors for Bats, and frying pans are used for other purposes.
> 
> (When Jason met Chickadee.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is in the weird timeframe where Jason was alone but before he goes and takes over Iceberg Lounge. 
> 
> Uh. Different Canon- obviously, but yeah.

To be fair, he wasn't the first. He was behind somewhere around...most of the people he knew, but before the Annoying Trinity of Bruce, Damian, and Dick, so he was counting it a win in his book. 

Although he didn't count it as a win before. Before, he was doing his usual "vigilante entrance" routine. He'd headed in, expecting to bust up the drug ring that he's been following for a while, honestly expected to put a damper on this new branch of this Venezuelan cartel trying to open shop, except his fucking intel was bad and it was actually a weapons deal and it wasn't the cartel but the fucking _Russians_ and...well. 

The good news was that he was pretty sure he was only grazed. The bad news is that he was still bleeding. 

Jason knew, vaguely, that Tim had gone off for something related to WE in Star City. That he'd haven't been to the Manor yet. Or a while. Which wasn't so unusual, given the Brat was only knife-happy on a good day and shit was still weird between Tim and the Annoying Trinity and...they were still working it out. Him and Jason? Relatively okay. Not, friends, but _friendly_. Jason was working this case for a while, so their patrols didn't overlap, but...he figured he had a 50/50 chance of either entering the safehouse with a startled Red Robin or not, and maybe having him help with the clean-up and not having Replacement attack him. 

Those were good enough chances for him. He could take on Red Robin, startled or not. Plus, Tim had upgraded his Perch to this once-abandoned townhouse, a cozy three storey with an "extended" basement. It was the last of a line of them on the edge of where Diamond District and Upper West meet, a stretch of street that somehow missed the gentrification way back when, and out of the way enough that no one complained about them being an "eyesore." Wasn't the Penthouse or the Theatre House, or one of Jay's own safehouses, but it was alright for recuperating from bullet wounds- Replacement stocked every floor with first aid kits, and had a nice assortment of security measures, even with a specialty "Bat" override to make going through a window a breeze, especially with the breaking dawn helping his vision. He gave a sigh of relief as he entered the safehouse, undoing his helmet, grateful that something about this day was going right. 

The immediate hit on his head and the subsequent darkness proved him wrong. 

* * *

"I'm sorry." An unfamiliar voice, young and childlike. 

"I know, honey- he has a thick head, he'll be fine." _That_ voice was familiar.

"I'm sorry."

"You're perfectly fine...Did you use my zip ties?"

"Yes. Like you showed me." Pride. 

"...Good Job." Pride in that voice as well.

Jason groans. His head is throbbing, and he's definitely bound. Cautiously he opens one eye. Then the other, staring at the scene in front of him. 

Tim gazes down, giving him a tired half-smile-thing that he usually did when he caught Dick pulling immature pranks. He's dressed in a pair of sleeping pants and an oversized Gotham Knights shirt. 

There was a child in a sleep shirt next to him. It had one of those Disney princesses on it. A blonde princess.

There was a child in the room. 

"Morning sleeping beauty," deadpans Tim. "What a lovely surprise." He took a sip out of a coffee mug clutched in his hand. 

"I'm going to make French toast," the small child (there was a _child_ ) declares, walking away from both of them. 

"Jenna, I need to be able to see you use the stove." Mild, amused eyes met his. "You're lucky her first instinct was to tell me after she zip-tied you. She's used to allies using the front door." Tim crouches back down in front of him. "I'm going to ask you some questions..." Jason is having an out of body experience, distantly responding to Tim's inquiries. 

Tim gives him another half-smile. "Looks like you aren't concussed, which is good. You're probably going to be feeling that bump for a while, which, sorry about that Jason. If I uncuff you, try and not fight me. I really don't want to be cleaning bloodstains out of the floorboards this morning." 

"I can clean them Mr. Dad!" the child (the little girl) chirps from wherever she was in the kitchen. Tim just nods his head, as if that was normal for a child saying they could clean up bloodstains. 

"That's very thoughtful of you, Jenna, but I can take care of any potential bloodstains." 

"What’s going on?" he finally rasps, letting himself finally accept that this wasn't a different reality, or a hallucination, or anything else because apparently Tim pulled a fucking Bruce and just adopted a child out of nowhere. Did Bruce know about this? Did _anyone_? He felt Tim break the ties, helping him to his feet, and looking down, Jason sees that someone had cleaned his injuries- his shirt had been shoved up his chest, beige and pink bandages littering his torso, and neat stitchwork on the grazer.

"She felt bad for whacking you with a frying pan," Tim says, passing him an ice pack. He wordlessly placed it on the central throbbing point on the back of his head. "And I thought it would be a good idea to show her basic medical service, after all it's never too early to learn first aid." 

"There's a child in the room." Jason felt stupid for saying that, but. "There is _a little girl and she is calling you Mr. Dad. Why._ " 

"Cause I’m Mr. Dad." Another sip from the mug, blue eyes steadfast on him before flickering over to the kitchen area. "I need to watch you use the stove, Jenna, hold on." 

"I can do it." It was planative, a little annoyed. It was the motto of all small children. It was _his_ motto, one that he repeated over and over, as a small child. How old was she? Jesus, all of them had probably said that to Bruce or to Alfred over the years. Did Alfred know? Tim had a _child_. 

He just stares as Tim stood next to where the little girl (Jenna, he called her _Jenna_ ) had been standing on a stool in front of the stove, a plate of egg-covered bread next to her. Her body was covering it, but Jason bet that the same frying pan that clocked him was on the stove. He still felt like he'd been clocked by a frying pan. That was probably concussion talk. Or not-concussion talk. Fuck. 

"Does he want coffee?" Tim looks at her, startled. The silence ticked by. "You have to ask if he wants coffee. It's polite." 

Tim turns to him. "Jason do you want coffee?" Jenna drops two pieces of bread onto the frying pan, the hiss of the egg making him blink as he absently pulls down his shirt. 

"Sure," Jason says, walking up to the kitchen island and pulling up a stool. He carefully places his own body in the chair as he levels a stare at Tim. "Also, hey Timmers? Why _the fuck_ do you have a kid?" Since last time Jason checked, Tim could barely keep himself alive, let alone a child. 

"Language." And wasn't that peachy-keen. Little Timmer's taking a page out of Ol' Alfred' and B's book. (Did anyone else in the family know about this. Seriously. He wasn't- it wasn't that long ago he'd been in Gotham.) 

A hot brew of a peace offering is placed in front of him, along with two painkillers. “Jenna is currently living with me," Tim says as he places a plate of french toast with a fork, and a bottle of syrup right of the plate. The kid kept cooking breakfast, and there was a pang of nostalgia, rising to his throat. He’d been there, where she was. Sometimes. Before. With Mom-

He stuffs his mouth before the feeling could fully form. “That doesn’t explain the kid, Babybird.” There was a sense of vindictive pleasure at the slight wrinkle of Replacement's nose when he spoke with his mouth full. Just because he knew manners didn't mean he used them all the time. Especially if it meant annoying certain smart bird-brained dorks. 

“I think it perfectly explains it, don’t you agree?” Tim took another sip of his mug as he glances over his shoulder, watching the child cook. “You doing ok, Jenna-bird?” 

“I’m doing ok, Mr. Dad. I don't need help.” There was a click, the sound of a knob turning off, and the girl shuffled around on the stool, hopping down as she looked up at Tim, nearly hidden by the countertop. “Mr. Dad, you have a meeting Tuesday at seven thirty. It's in your planner." Tim nods his head, humming a little as he stares bemused at Jason. 

“...It’s Tuesday. And it’s six fifteen.” That seems to register something in Tim’s head, because he chokes from where he was taking a sip of his coffee. _“The Meeting.”_ Tim runs out, the child following after him.

Jason just kept eating and icing. The french toast was actually pretty good. And the coffee was just how he liked it. For a moment, he just ate, still processing the events of last night (and how someone is going to get a gun shoved in their face because fuck, no one fucked around with _The Red Hood_ ) and the fact that Tim had a little girl and was really being fucking _coy_ about it. 

His eyes flicker over when Jenna had wandered back into the room, wearing a little green dress dotted with cherries, and a matching red headband on top of her brushed hair, holding a familiar red phone. “Mr. Dad says I need to observe you," she says, standing beside him as she absently types on the phone. 

“Did he say why?” He took a sip, observing the tiny child. She had light brown hair, long enough to reach the top of her shoulders, a bit of a wave to it. Sometimes, Kori would let him or Roy play with her hair, braiding it into weird patterns, before they would slip out, like water, returning it to its original wave of red. “I’m learning about tells,” she states proudly, looking up at his face. Her eyes were green, not bright green, not Pit, more deeper, and the beginnings of a Bat-Stare on her little face. Kind of reminded him of Artemis' eyes, the unwavering stare of green, unflinching in every occasion. “It would be good for my education, and practicing means proficiency. At least, that's what Mr. Dad and Auntie Cass says."

Ok, so Cass knew, at least. Which meant Babs knew, and Steph, since they knew how to communicate and not just punch away their feelings. Jason shrugs one shoulder, still eating as the girl just stares at him, ever so often typing something on the phone. Notes? 

Tim rushes out again, somehow looking polished and pressed even with his long-ass hair, dressed like a corporate asshole in a dark gray suit and red tie, hastily gathering various papers lying around the place as the girl immediately stuck to his heels. He turns to Jason, a gleam in his eye that usually meant Jason would be having regrets. 

“I need a favor.”

“No.” swift, automatic. Easy to refuse Bats.

“Can you watch over Jenna until the babysitter comes?”

"No." Because _no_ , Tim, he wasn't- he was _the Red Hood_ , not a _babysitter_. No. "Absolutely not." 

"She'll be here in ten minutes and Jenna is doing her lessons today at her house so you get the place all to yourself. Don't be a baby, Jason." Tim turns to Jenna, ignoring the strangled sound coming from Jason because _fuck you Pretender._ "I'll call during noon, remember to keep your phone close around then. Be good. I'll be back at 6:27, and we can have take-out for dinner."

"Can we watch Tangled before patrol?" Jenna kept her face on Tim as she hands back the phone. She smiles as Tim kisses the top of her head, bright and yearning.

"Don't make the babysitter cry and we can watch one episode," he says. "I'll be back. Promise." The words were soft. He'd never heard the Pretender sounding so soft (he never knew Tim _could_ sound soft.) 

Jenna nods her head, still bright and earnest. "Okay, Mr. Dad. Promise," she waves at Tim as he gives one last look, one last smile, and walks out the door. 

Green eyes immediately go to him. He didn't even flinch, like hell he was going to flinch at a child's stare. Even if it did make him feel like Cass' stare, like she was peeling back his skin and looking into his soul. 

Jenna smiles at him, an earnest one, even if a little less bright than the one she gave to Tim. "I'm going to do my lessons; Mr. Dad says it's okay to sleep on the couch, sometimes." And with that, she turns away. 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Wake me when the babysitter is here, yeah?" He calls out, walking over and collapsing onto the couch, the exhaustion of everything hitting hard and fast, still icing his head. Too much information, and too little time to process, or care. He didn't care. He didn't care that Tim had a kid and could sound soft, or that he randomly had a strange urge to text Roy. Listen to Kori's voice. To snipe and snark with Artemis. To feel the comfort of Biz's hand on his shoulder. 

He didn't care how he wished he could remember what his mom's voice sounded like, when she would say goodbye before she left. 

He did care, as sleep hit him hard and fast, was that he wished he'd grabbed a blanket first. 

* * *

"It's Tuesday, so we have to go to lunch. And then the library. We need to _go._ You have to wake up." 

Jason groans, blearily waking up, exhaustion lessened but a dull throbbing in the back of his head, and under a blanket he definitely remembered not grabbing. He just blinks at the little girl, still just processing the fact that he was _awake._

"What time is it?" he groans, eyes flicking to the blanket, a fuzzy, white, thing that had little eggs dotting the fabric, feeling the soreness finally creep into his muscles. The stitched up grazer was groaning at him.

"It's ten minutes after ten. You need to wear normal people clothes cause Mr.Dad says so, and It takes twenty minutes to get to Lunch and fifteen minutes for the food to arrive but if we get there at eleven thirty five Ana will give us milkshakes while we wait." She's tugging on his arm. "You need to get changed. Mr. Dad has clothes in the second closet. I think they'll fit." Suddenly she stops, squinting at him. He squints back in confusion, still trying to figure out why there was a child- oh. Right. Frying pan. French toast. This was Jenna. Replacement’s new (only) child. 

"I mean, yeah they'll fit, that's my usual spot- where's your babysitter?" He distinctly remembered Tim mentioning a babysitter. A babysitter that was definitely not here, and not leaving him alone in a house. Jenna shrugs. "I texted her that she didn't have to come today. Cause you were going to watch me today."

"And she just. Agreed." Somehow, it didn't seem like Tim to get some random babysitter that would let a kid cancel like that. Especially if instead of, you know, a nice, normal and relatively sane person, the kid was being looked after _The Red Hood_. Fuck. Did she use their real names? Did it matter? Fuck. 

"I used Mr.Dad's phone and his texting patterns." Ah, there it was. Little chick was definitely picking up Bat Habits. Still didn't explain why she wanted him to look after her, but hell, it was getting pretty obvious that she was Replacement's kid, and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. And well, maybe he still had a soft spot for kids, even ones that clocked him over the head with a frying pan and zip-tied him. He could respect that- self preservation skills were practically genetic for a Gotham kid. She continues to tug on his arm. "Let's go. You need to get clean." She yanks some more and Jesus, her grip is _solid._ "Let's go."

"Shit, alright, alright I'm moving, I'm _moving._ " 

"Language." 

* * *

At eleven-seven, a little girl dressed in a coordinated ensemble of shoes, dress, backpack and headband, wandered out of the townhouse with a civilian-clothed and sunglasses'ed Red Hood (who already taken several painkillers) in tow- he even was wearing the good jeans without the holes in the cuffs and a Gotham Knight baseball cap shoved over his hair. Still felt shabby standing next to the tiny human that had her _backpack_ coordinating with her shoes (red, they were both red, bright as the cherries on her dress, and he felt the hidden gun on the side of his hip.) 

It was impressive, he muses, as he followed the girl, how well she navigated Gotham's streets. He was aware that she was carrying mace, and two rebreathers in that backpack of hers. She's steadfast, keeping up with the pace of the street, and he nearly lost her twice because damn she could move, and move fast- and even with her outfit (and the red backpack) she had that uncanny ability (like someone else) to blend into the crowd. It reminded him of all the times when he was younger, of wandering the streets of Gotham, of feeling the hard pavement beneath his worn shoes, harsh and welcoming just as Gotham is. 

Gotham always had his heart. The skyscrapers were exactly like their namesake, seeming to scrape and grasp at the sky, as if claws swiping at the heavens. Or trying to claw the heavens down, to keep a piece of it curled tight in the muck and mire of Gotham. He inhales the air, feeling the pollution settle in his chest. He had spent the past weeks before the drug deal, following a lead about another case up and down the coast. He had breathed in greenery, in healthy, clear air, the type that doesn't have the tinge of something acidic, something dangerous. Just trees and blue waters and picturesque coastline. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

Gotham was grotesque, and familiar. He was grateful for that, at least. 

Lunch turned out to be a shitty-looking diner shoved between two corporate buildings in the Diamond District, the “Diner” lettering practically faded off the front. It was a staple of Gotham, nearly every other block had a dingy diner shoved into weird places. The same linoleum floors, the ancient, clean yet dingy fifties style- they all seem to just appear and disappear in strange locations. He remembers going to one of these places, once. Back when. 

Back when. 

(A cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake, that was his go-to order. Hold the mayo, tomatoes on the side.) 

It's in full lunch rush when they arrive, and a waitress, a young woman in her mid twenties, gives him a wary look before her face brightens, smiling at the girl. 

"Hi Ms. Jenna, here for your usual?" She says brightly, gathering two plastic menus, but that's it. She directs them to a booth near the back, close to the kitchen. A perfect view of the entire diner, and close to a getaway. "Everything doing ok?" Her voice had that warning tone, one that says "I don't trust you." He tries to not let it bother him but- Jesus. 

"I'm going over prospects, Miss Christy," Jenna answers, all solemn and serious and how the hell did she even learn that word? But it made the hard look lessen, a look of understanding softening the tired woman. "Ana will be out shortly." As she passed by, she gave him a wink, smirking lightly.

Suddenly, he felt like something was being horribly, _horribly,_ misunderstood. 

The menu was the standard fare- nothing really new. It was the same in this diner from the next from the next. If he didn't know better, he swore that the diners must have some weird franchise thing going on, or more likely, a competition, seeing who could do the best shitty diner meals. 

"You want the cheeseburger." He peers over to where she had placed the menu off to the ledge of the table. "And the fries," she keeps looking at him. "Are you the type that just decides to be contrary because someone else knows before you?" 

"How do you know what contrary means?" He asks instead, biting back the instinctive _fuck you_. He could actually control himself, _Dick Grayson._ The girl shrugs. "I'm eight," she says, as if that explained everything. Which...well, at eight he could pick-pocket the best of them, and cook, so maybe that was enough of an answer. 

Just before he could ask one of his questions (all ranging from "Are you sure you're eight?" To "Why the hell Tim Drake?") another waitress appears, this one looking more weary and jaded than the first one, and definitely glaring at him as she balances two waters and two chocolate milkshakes on her tray. Her name tag said 'Ana' and he would bet his guns that Tim and Jenna are regulars. Or Jenna with anyone other than the _suspicious looking man in the sunglasses and baseball cap._

Jesus. This was going to get messy. 

"Not here with Mr. Dad, today?" She says lightly, already placing the drinks down. She keeps her voice light, her entire body language screaming "protect the kid" which, props for the waitress- most Gothamites wouldn't stick out their necks for an infant on a good day. It was somewhat nice to see that there were people out there who wanted to protect kids. He wasn't even really mad about the glares she was giving him; hell, he would be damn suspicious as well, seeing someone like him with a little girl who looked like she should be in some fancy-ass school, not swanning about in a diner, on a school day. 

Jenna just nods, like a damn bobble-head, Jesus. "Lunch meeting with Mr. Dad's boyfriend, Miss Ana." 

What. 

He wishes he could say that he didn't choke on air, when he heard her words, but _Jesus Christ what._ No. _No._ Absolutely _No. Why._

The wink made sense, now. The wink made _sense._

Ana, horrifically, didn't notice the fact that he's freaking the fuck out because _no_ , and instead nods and smiles, as if she _understood_. No, _no_ she did not understand, he was Tim's undead adopted _brother-_ but it's not like he could fucking say _that._ Fuck. 

"So, the usual for you, chickadee?" Ana asks instead, as Jason's slowly regretting every single damn life choice that led to this moment. He didn't really listen as Jenna orders for him as well, making a vague noise of agreement as he kept wondering how- 

How.

"You know your dad and I aren't dating, right?" He finally asks, once Ana left with their order. He tries his best not to sound like he was still choking, but Jesus, that was out of left field. _Boyfriend._

She blinks at him. "Then why did you call Mr. Dad Babybird? And the other nicknames? And you have clothes at our house," she kept pointing them out. "And Mr. Dad wasn't surprised that you came from the window. And he wanted you to look after me. And you only seemed surprised to see me, so." She ends it with a shrug, looking very much like a certain fucking asshole that has the name of a fucking burger chain. "I don't know how long you've been dating, though."

"I'm...no, I'm not dating your dad, I'm your dad's _brother_ ," he chokes out, staring at the table. Because he could see it. He could definitely see where the hell she was coming from and that if you looked at _all_ of their relationships, from the outsider perspective, it was definitely less brotherly and more something gross. 

She just squints at him, obviously not believing. 

"I- look," he places his hands on the table. "Sometimes families have very, _very_ skewed sense of boundaries and convoluted relationships and a lot of weird bulls- malarkey and I'm not saying you should emulate that, just understand that your dad and I are completely platonic and familial." There. Not quite a lie. 

"...Is Jason a middle name?" 

"No." He wasn't sure where she was going with this line of inquiry. Unless. 

"Ah. I'm not Dick. Or- Bruce." The names feel wooden in his mouth, or- yeah, wooden. Like wood, not oil-slick or concrete or beaches and fire and other ways his friends names sound to him. The name is unfamiliar like wood is- blocky, and heavy. Wood isn't familiar with Gotham (unless you're Ivy, and that's different) and he's been unfamiliar with those names for a long time.

She nods, and before she says anything else, a phone rings. 

She extracts her phone from the backpack, answering it and replying with a "Hi, Mr. Dad." 

He glances over at the clock, Tim was right on time. 

She starts talking about her day, careful to remove any mention of the fact that she's currently hanging out with a Vigilante/Crime Lord. As she chatters away, he lets his mind split, listening for Intel and watching the restaurant. 

He had his back to a wall. He's facing the rest of the place, while Jenna has her back, and he has a pretty good view of the entire diner. There are booths against the perimeter of the space, tables in the middle, with a decent sized counter-bar as the centerpiece, against the other wall, just like every damn diner in Gotham. 

However the tables aren't bolted, and that is also saying something. He could easily flip a table, duck under, or just run out from the kitchen, if things get hairy. 

He's done it before. There was a case back when it was Roy and Kori. Biz didn't really enjoy crowds, minus the stint with the circus, and neither did Artemis, and they tended to stick out, but Roy and Kori were extroverts. They loved that stuff. It was when they were following this gang and during a quiet moment, sat down to actually have a meal in this roadside diner and not just take out and eat off the side of the road. Roy kept flirting with Kori, and they were laughing and for a moment, just a moment, everything felt...like a movie. Like one of those memories you come back to when you're dying, those "one of the good old days" memories. And then some fucker from the gang pulled out a gun and started spraying. Ended the moment real quick. They'd ducked under a table, already firing back. 

He wonders if that's why Tim goes to this diner. Easy flippable tables.

He shakes his head, just a bit, to dispel that quiet voice. Jesus. He didn't want to know the Replacement's reasoning for picking out a Daddy-Daughter lunch spot. 

Though, his eyes flick over to the child, though. It is a surprise. He'd expected something more...classy. Gentrified, at least. 

She holds herself. Different. She's still, but not quite like the stillness of a kid that got hit too much, a kid that tries to hide from being hurt. There's always a hint of _painfear_ in the scrunch of their shoulders, the dip in their spines. They'll brace in a pose that they'll know (hope) will make the beating less. Not gone, but _less_. 

Jason used to sometimes do that. He used to still, bracing, waiting, but when he wasn't? When he had Gotham as his entire home he was moving, just like the other kids did in Crime Alley. You move in Gotham, always chasing, running, fidgeting, _moving._

She holds herself as if it's been trained out. Her spine is too straight, her shoulders are back. She looks, well, she doesn't look like the street kids of Gotham, eyes dark and wary and prepared. She doesn't look like some random suburban kid either. She has that upper-class look to her, a look as if she was created in the sole purpose of good genetics and upper breeding and all that bullshit for some crappy bloodline. And yet she's been one of the most polite brats he's met, saying please and thank you, and "yes sir" and "sorry, ma'ams." She doesn't have the Gothamite lilt, not yet. High chances that if she stays here, she'll be speaking like a proper Gothamite pretty quickly- especially if she spends any time with Timbers while he's driving, considering Red Robin's road rage. 

Jason wonders where Tim found her. 

He thumbs his phone in his pocket, tapping a familiar path before finally pulling it out, staring at the text message screen. It's been at least a month since he even spoke to Roy, the last message _"Yeah",_ staring up at him like a glare. 

There was a time that he trusted Roy Harper with almost everything. 

He quickly taps a _Hey. Got a question_ , sending it and sliding his phone back into his pocket before he regrets it. 

Ana is already placing down their orders and-

A cheeseburger, open, with tomatoes on the side of the plate, away from the fries.

(A burger at another diner, talking about classes as a man gives a whisper of a smile.) 

"Is there something wrong?" Ana looks concerned, of course she is, she's not used to having people get _flashbacks over burgers_ , Jesus Christ. 

"I'm fine," he gives her a smile, trying to look trustworthy. Ana just stares harder. "Thank you." That seems to placate her, and she just walks off, waiting on other tables, other customers. 

"Sorry about hitting you." 

He really should be focusing more on her, honestly. He chalks it up to the fact that he got slammed by a frying pan. 

"It's fine," he takes a bite of the burger, chews, swallows. It still tastes exactly the same. He refuses to give it more thought. "Why the frying pan?" 

"Rapunzel uses a frying pan for defense." She's dredging a fry in mustard, popping it into her mouth. He's not too shocked at her choice of meal- it's somewhat relieving to know that she enjoys chicken tenders and fries as much as a normal kid. "I like Rapunzel." 

He vaguely remembers her- Roy would put on Disney or Barbies or some other colorful cartoons on a screen after a mission. He said it helped him settle, a reminder of optimism. 

He would scoff, but usually settle beside him, if only to rip on the characters and story. 

_("She's such a flat character! I mean, give us something."_

_"Let me watch my Barbie Fairytopia in peace, Jay."_

_"The TV show was better."_

_"Of course you would like that meta concept, nerd." )_

"Which is your favorite princess?" 

"My what?" 

"Your favorite princess," she repeats. "Disney Princesses. Any Princess. I like Rapunzel. Mr. Dad also likes Rapunzel but he also likes Ariel. Cassie said Wonder Woman, which is also an answer, but I'm kind of wanting to know your favorite Disney Princess. Wonder Woman is everyone's favorite. Which one is _your_ favorite?" She takes a bite out of another fry. 

"Belle, probably." He always liked that scene in the library. She nods her head. She talks as she eats, and he learns a bit more about her, such as:

-She has given each of the people she knows a Princess. From Cass to Drake's Titans, each had a special one, and she gives a short explanation for all. And he _gets_ it, understands why Cass is Belle, Babs is Jasmine, why Bart Allen is Ariel. She lists her reasoning although- the fact that she's unsure if he's another Ariel or a Merida is something that makes him ask why the red-heads, which just makes her give a startling copy of Tim's Bitch Face, and continues to ramble on before deciding that he's Merida. He argues he knows a Merida, and he'll gladly take literally anyone else. She just makes the Bitch Face again and tells him to stop being a Merida. 

-Somehow that transitions into him talking about Roy and Starfire, and even Artemis and Biz, though those still...hurt. She asks questions about them, and he gives extremely sanitized versions of his... adventures. Not all of them, but the ones he could say he's a bit proud of. Then she asks about his caseload, and says he's not a Merida, but an Esmeralda, which he'll gladly take over _Merida._

-Through all of this he gleans that she spent most of her early years alone. Extremely alone- he figures out that "lessons" are actually homeschooling- she takes online courses, as long as she can remember. She speaks as if parents are a job description, and things like friends, are a novel concept, something intangible, idealistic.

-She kept her back to the door, but she arranged the chrome napkin holder to reflect what she couldn't see. 

He's finishing the last of his shake, and he's getting an idea of what her past was like. And why Tim is involved. There's gaps, there's plenty of gaps and why's and how's and what the hell's, but he's a detective, a Bat, and there's a theory that's being made, and it's not one that sits right with him. 

It makes him think of another time, when he had first entered the Manor, and the shadows seem to be a little darker, a little more unknown than the familiarity of Gotham's streets. Of waiting in his room, under the bed, counting his breaths while he huddled and waited for _something._

It makes him think of when he had listened to the breathing of another, listened to his first friend- the first friend that cared for Jason, _just_ Jason. 

He misses pale hands and clumsy smiles even more. 

Jenna, has been quiet, finishing up her meal and carefully placing her plate and milkshake glass near the edge, wiping up crumbs from the table with a napkin. Jason watches as she pulls out a leather bound book, a small Robin sticker in the center of the red cover. Flipping it open to a page, she peers at Jason, raising an eyebrow as she clicks a matching pen. 

"What's your availability during the week?"

Figures Replacement's kid has a planner.

"I'm not going to be your baby-sitter, kid." He rolls his eyes at her frown. Well, more of a pout, really. "One time deal." He settles back, watching her watching him. 

He has spent his time the lowest scum, with Rogues, with Batman and even Midnighter. He'd spent his time with some of the most stubborn assholes this side of the galaxy, different multiverses. He could handle a child pouting at him because he didn't have time out of his schedule to visit her. Even if it was obvious that Replacement, who's notorious for being "too busy" could spend time with her. He has plans. Ideas. Machinations. He didn't need to spend time with some. _Child._

"Kid, you're nice but- trust me, you don't want to be hanging around me. I'm not great news. And your "Mr. Dad" is aware of that. So drop the idea and move on, ok?" 

She still looks unimpressed, but she puts away her planner. "We'll see. Check please." 

* * *

Instead of his plan on taking her back home, she gives him the slip and he tracks her because he's not letting a damn kid that practically has a sign that said "ransom me" just wander the streets of Gotham, goddamn, and she leads him all the way to Gotham Library, not even raising an eyebrow as she waits until he's beside her before walking in. She- the little shit literally put him on a wild goose chase, several times he almost called fucking Babs to see if she could get an aerial view, who the fuck is this kid? And now they're at the library. 

He really should take her home. 

He walks through the doors instead. 

Walking in is a dream. It still smells the same from his childhood, paper and cleaning products and the hint of dust. Windows streaming in light, walls covered in shelves filled with books. This, to him, smells of safety. He could feel a knot between his shoulders unwinding, as he quietly enjoys the sense of peace, the quiet dim of computers, printers, and people reading. 

There had been cases, before. Cases where it was just him and B, spending time in the library, hearing how the building settles in the night. He remembers fighting on the rooftop of this library, bugging Babs at her volunteer stint at the library, hell, just going on day trips because even B had enjoyed walking down the shelves of books. 

As usual, he discards the thought. He's tired of this, how Gotham makes him think of past, he just wants to fucking- 

Fuck. He isn't sure any more. 

She makes a beeline for the languages, avoids the children section. Actually stops, tensing, when two kids run past her. 

He takes note of that. He wonders if Tim knows about this, about the way that while it's clear she's heading to the languages, she sticks close to shadows, to the furniture and shelving that can hide her body. She's silent, and several times she had to scuttle out of the way before someone collided with her. 

He bypasses the fiction section himself, going over to the literature section- he's a bit surprised that they use the Dewey Decimal system, most other libraries would have switched to the Library of Congress years ago, especially with the size of the library, but Gotham is stubborn. It's not too hard to skim the titles, try and decide if he wants Dumas again, or the collection of Rosalía de Castro poems that keeps on finding its way back to him. 

He's sure he once read it at the Manor, and yet he can't seem to find any collection of hers in the library. Bruce might of taken it for his own, and like damn is he going to actually search the bastard's bedroom for a measly book. Weapons, yes. Alcohol, yes. Poetry collections were risking it too much, god forbid Demon Brat or Dickhead found him. 

The book is a familiar weight in his hand, the marbled green cover faintly shining from the overhead light. He lets it fall open to a random page, letting his eyes skim over the words. 

_My house, my home_

_everyone leaves and I remain_

_without company or friend_

_I stay behind, watching_

_the embers of houses_

_of those I long for_

No, not today, exhaustion and something else curling up inside him. He's not really wanting to go wallowing in Romanticism. And he's a bit tired of Dumas at the moment. 

He reshelves the collection as he grabs _Little Women_ , moving to find out where the little chick flitted off to. 

She's in a beanbag, next to a chair with it's back against the wall and a clear view of the library, one of the good chairs, with the right amount of give and support, perfect for reading. The beanbag is one of those blue pleather ones, from the kids section, the ones he swears have been there since he was a kid. Maybe even longer. 

He notices several kids hovering close to her, their eyes wary, almost as if they were wanting to interact with her, but they scatter as soon as he sits down. He eyes her; she's not doing anything other than reading, and apparently she's learning Arabic. Well. That's interesting. 

"Mind tell me what that was all about?" She looks up at him, face completely open, and blinking a bit, exactly like he used to do when he resurfaced from a good book. "The kids," he clarifies, motioning with his child in the general vicinity of where they were last at. "They were looking at you." 

"Oh," she tilts her head. "What'd they look like?" 

"Why?" 

"There's two that like to call me "weird", and four others that just like to watch me as if I'm an interesting exhibition at a zoo, and make faces at me so they can laugh at my reaction." Her eyes are back to the book, and her voice level, but her body is saying that she doesn't like it, but doesn't know how to fix it. It's...not violent, and they're obviously keeping their distance, but fuck, that's...pretty shitty. He kind of wants to do something. He remembers being stared at by elite brats when he was just adopted, the sneers and whispers that haunted him as he walked past. He had assumed that she would be exempted from that. 

Then again, it didn't matter- Kori had dealt with whispers, Artemis as well. Class didn't matter if you were a woman, he supposes. Or, it did- it meant that you could never, ever fall. 

From his vantage point, he can see the children section. See where she grabbed the bean bag, see other kids reading, or running around. See them talking to friends or family members. 

He looks down and sees her, silent as she quietly studies, her legs curled up underneath her, very prim and proper and alone. 

"Do you want to?" She looks up again, startling herself out of her book again. He motions his head over to where the children section is at. She just blinks at him, not even registering his words before:

"Oh. No. I'm not wanted over there," she goes back to the book. "I'm too wrong." 

That's. That's too much of a loaded statement for him to deal with, for him to _want_ to deal with. So he returns back to Alcott, and quietly, they read their books together as time passes by. 

* * *

Somehow he ends up checking out three books. 

Somehow his library card still _works_. 

As he marveling that revelation (he's curious about how and why his library card is still active, but he has a hunch it has to go with a certain Bat) he finally gets a reply from Roy, a _If it's about what I have a feeling it's about, then I'll call later._

He ignores how his chest is unsettled (how relieved he feels) as he types out a response. _What, you psychic now, Harper?_

_-Lol. No. But I figured you would eventually meet the Baby bird. The newest one._

_-Wait, you actually know about her?_

_-Long story. I'll explain later. Or you can ask her._

He glances down. She has been carefully walking back next to him, keeping his stride. He thinks how strange they must look, side by side, her all bright and new, and him in his old clothes and worn look in life. She had her head straight ahead, but there's that shift in her eyes, the one that everyone gets, eventually- living in a place where crime could be literally around the corner, where the buildings are so tight they block the sun, it's hard to not be on edge when you're outside. 

Hers looks a little too familiar on her face. 

They stop at the doorway, and she takes out a keycard and key attached to several different keychains- he sees the Flash symbol, Wonder Woman, Superman. A metal engraving of two R's. 

He thinks of days crammed into small places, a large pale hand warm on his shoulder. Of red hair, firey hair, red armor and red arrows. Red axe-handles and pale smiles. He-

"Do you want to see my collection?" 

He glances down, staring at her open face. 

His immediate thought is _no_. Nothing good out of having a collection. Collections are usually something creepy or horrifying. However, he smiles his best, winning smile and says "sure," following her up the stairs and to a room that Tim had been using as an extra guest room/storage space, since why not? There's still hours left before he needs to get ready for patrol, and so far she's turning out to be at least more interesting than cleaning his guns, and way less annoying than, say, Damian. He hopes, as he takes off the sunglasses, wincing as his eyes adjust, it's something mercifully ordinary, and not indicators that she's a mini psychopath or sociopath. 

When they enter the bedroom, he's not sure what he's expecting. 

Maybe to see the bedroom as it was- a full bed with an old headboard in the corner, an Ikea dresser, mismatched chairs filled with old computer parts and other miscellaneous items spilling onto the floor. The walls, the same generic gray as half of the place, with some random marks from the various vigilantes and metahumans that had crashed there. Or one of those perfect little girly bedrooms- pink walls and Disney princesses and everything soft and delicate that it makes him feel like some sort of bad spirit, like just his presence alone can destroy the innocence of the room. Even one of those modern looking ones, with all the white and light wood. He would bet on color coordination, at least. 

Instead he gets walls that have been re-done, burn marks and bullet holes spackled and painted over, painted in a pink, but more of a reddish pink. A pastel coral, some voice says in his brain, sounding like a familiar chuckle as he continues to look around the room. 

Gone was the junk and the bed shoved as an afterthought- there were a couple of tables shoved into an L by the door's wall, with a nice "desk" setting on one side (that computer rig was all Tim and Babs, which, the fuck) with a matching stationery set, transitioning to a chemistry set and microscope, a camera bag against several binders beside them. A bookshelf painted Superman blue and Flash red with bins filled with comic books on the bottom, the rest of the shelves filled with a variety of books, fiction and nonfiction. There was the familiar window right next to the bookshelf, bright yellow curtains with little red birds in flight. 

The closet door is painted red, and the same logos for all four of Tim's little "Core Four" group are carefully stenciled and painted on. Next to the closet door, is a gigantic panel of corkboard, all with- pictures and pieces of string and just random pieces of trash and other items, stuff that he wouldn't think twice of, but for a kid, means the entire world. The pictures aren't anything incriminating or personal, at least not at first glance; there's a shot of an oil spill there, a blurry one of a Chinese lantern, a small hand the broad expanse back of Tim's favorite gargoyle.

So he's showing her Gotham. That's good. 

Her closet door is closed, and there's a short purple dresser off to the side, but what takes the cake is the bed shoved in the other corner, close by the window.

It looked like a slightly elevated twin bed, with a mismatch of bedding. He couldn't really tell from the canopy. 

The canopy made up of familiar red and black wings, arranged as if almost encasing everything, hiding the bed in whatever the fuck Tim originally made that thing because that's definitely Tim's cape-glider monstrosity, the same one Steph would crack Vegas jokes. The wings glint faintly, a reminder of how deadly they could be. (He made this a canopy for a child?)

She's underneath the bed, digging out something and she pulls out this old beaten lock box that had a quarter of it melted right off and someone had patched it up with duct tape and bent metal scraps 

Jason- he's used to the dichotomy of them, Bats, Outlaws, Vigilantes, Capes. Each and every one of them wear personas over personas to the point that some don't know where the mask ends and the person begins. Fuck knows he understands it. There's been times where he's stared at the Red helmet, just cradled it, and thought how much of his life is now tangled in Hood and Robin and Bats and the Mission, that there wasn't much left for Jason at all. If there ever was. 

She pulls out the box and he thinks that maybe Jenna understands personas as well. Because prim and proper little girls don't keep melted lock boxes. 

Carefully, she hands him the box, staring up at his face. "You can open it." 

Inside is lined with some sort of dark fabric- crushed velvet, actually, nestling an assortment of items. 

Several marbles, one cracked. Two earrings, one that was a bright pink hoop with multi-colored rhinestones studded in it, one that was a strange bird symbol in pressed gold metal. Three guitar picks. Some feathers, all in different colors. Three pieces of melted, twisted metal. A birthday card. Some rocks. Two red fletchings, looking exactly what Harper uses. A half destroyed batarang. 

A half destroyed batarang. 

How. 

"I found them after an alien invasion with Arsenal's used arrows," she states, looking up to him. "They were on a ledge of one of the buildings nearby- I climbed and grabbed them. I couldn't bring the...stick part? The shaft? Down with me, but I could take back the feather parts." 

"Fletchings," he murmurs, "they're called fletchings." He twists the batarang, watching how the light glints off the black metal, seeing the clean lines warped into a melted mess. 

He...he remembers hearing about it. Some alien asshole that decided that Star City was a good idea to conquer, for some fucking reason. He remembers hearing how they called in Young Justice for it, called in the Titans. He remembers thinking of calling Roy, wondering if he patched up with Dinah. He remembers getting sidelined with another mission, another case, another hand on his shoulder, another redhead smiling at him. He misses Roy, he knows. He misses spending time with the loud Archer, how he once always had his back. How Roy would give him smiles, and it would feel like, for a moment, there wasn't a knot of rage that lived in his chest. He turns the batarang over and over in his hands. 

He remembers when he got the first one to hit dead center of the target, the pride in Bruce's eyes. His palm was warm and big on his shoulder, and he could feel his own pride rising up at the sight of that impassive face opening up a little, a small smile gracing the face. 

"Great job," Bruce said. "Now do it again." And he did. The metal shined starkly in the cave, black spots marring the targets. 

"You're wondering how did I climb a ledge, aren't you?" His eyes flick back to her. He'd nearly forgotten her. 

"I'm wondering how you know Arsenal," he responds. He's wondering how the hell did she climb a damn ledge. 

"Cause he used to be Speedy," she says, not even a bit ashamed. "He's very distinctive." 

"Distinctive" would be a word to use to describe Roy Harper, with his red hair and tattoos and propensity for explosives. Roy Harper and that grin that he gives to only Jay, that grin that makes Jason feel like he's actually a good person, that he's not a good person because he feels like a good person at the sight of that grin. 

It's a very complicated grin. 

"You're from Star City, originally?" He clears his throat, trying to ignore the grit that appears in his throat. Cigarettes. They stick to you. She nods her head as he passes back the piece of memory. "So how did you get here?" He kind of hopes that Tim hasn't finally lost it from overworking and just. Stole a kid. For some reason. 

"I'm here for the apprenticeship," she says calmly.

Jason blinks. Continues to blink because that came out of left field. 

"What apprenticeship?" Replacement knows labor laws. Replacement works for Wayne Enterprises, and helped update the damn Employee Handbook, he knows this, Replacement was bitching about it during one patrol. And she's fucking eight. She has to be wrong. 

"I applied to be Mr. Red Robin's- or Mr. Drake-Wayne's assistant," she says, which. Fuck that's ballsy for her. Also, completely illegal. "He declined." Oh thank fuck. "But he suggested this position instead and so he became Mr. Dad." What the fuck, Replacement. 

He's about to just leave and go over to Wayne Corp, to shoot the Fucker, and he. Stops. Looks. 

She's closing the box, the one with the half batarang, heading back to crawl underneath her bed. The bed with the glider cape and the bedding in the room that obviously Tim made to make her happy.

Tim isn't. Nice. Sure, people think he's nice, but in reality he's smart, just shy of condescending and acts like a know-it-all creep, exactly like Batman, except Replacement knows when to back off- _usually._ He'll move the goddamn mountains for you, but he's fucking _selective._ He had to be. They all had to be. And if someone asked Jason yesterday if Tim would be a good potential parent, Jason wouldn't believe it for a damn minute. But maybe that thought, that Tim couldn't be a parent, is a bit off. Because in his mind, Tim wouldn't make up a room for a child he didn't care about. Tim wouldn't have given her clothes or babysitters or even make phone calls during lunch time to check up on her. Tim's weird like that- he'll bend over backwards if he cares for you, otherwise he's just absently polite, if you're normal. But this isn't normal. And the girl- Jenna- something inside is off, he has to admit. Because normal girls don't keep melted batarangs and know when vigilantes changed masks. They also don't lie to their foster fathers to hang out with known Crime Lords. They do things like, play with dolls or go to actual school and have friends and a family that cares for them. They have a bedroom and a home. And they certainly don't climb ledges near battlefields to grab souvenirs. 

They had wandered back into the kitchen, and he's watching blankly as she navigates her way through familiar cabinets, appliances. The stove and countertops are pristine, as if breakfast didn't happen- there's not even a single plate in the drying rack. He watches as she pours both of them two glasses of ice water. For a kid, she knows how to be hospitable. 

"Are you okay?" She has a crease in between her eyes. "You don't have to stay, if you need to go." 

Frankly, he would punch himself before leaving a child alone, even a well-behaved one, even if she could easily handle herself. It just wasn't right. "I'm fine, just, you know when- Tim is coming back?" He almost said _Replacement,_ he had it on the tip of his tongue, and the memory of lunch reminded him that he should cool it for the nicknames for a while. 

"Mr. Dad will be arriving at 6:27, give or take five minutes due to traffic. Then we have dinner, and watch an episode of either Star Trek or Tangled before he suits up for patrol, and then a safe person arrives to patrol the house while he does his regular patrol," she looks a bit proud, puffing up a bit as she continues, "Only now I'm allowed to stay on comms with Ms. Babs until 10, unless it's deemed "too dangerous" and I can put myself to bed. Mr. Dad gets home around 2, from what the sensors tell." 

So they have a routine. That's good. The fact that she's tucking herself into bed is kind of shitty, but also, he's the fucking Red Hood, and also, he's pretty sure that "patrol the house" is probably code for "night babysitting duty" and now the reason why some of the other Bats blow him off or ask him to cover their own patrols on slow nights. They're probably in a roster somewhere. He's literally been asked from everyone except the Annoying Trinity to cover patrols, to cover cases, which is why he was damn behind on his own cases, and maybe part of the reason he nearly got shot, which means that everyone else knows, except those Three. And. That kind of stings. 

He knows him and Tim aren't friends, but he also thought that with the blood and bullshittery and just being a Bat and a Wayne, it would mean that he would at least get a fucking text about major life events. _Like gaining a kid._

But. They aren't close, he amends. They're friendly, not friends. They patrol, they fight together, they work cases- but it's been a long time since he and Red Robin ever stepped out together outside of masks. He had the Outlaws and other missions and dealing with losing Biz and Artemis. Tim had WE and Young Justice and fuck knows what else. There would be a priority list, somewhere, on who would know first. And barely-allies are probably way down the list. 

It's been a while since he's been in Gotham. 

He glances down at the girl, quietly drinking her water as she sits properly in her chair, eyes carefully ahead. She's not fidgeting, she's still and quiet and that means something. 

"Why-" He stops, considers. "Why Red Robin?" That's the question that has been dancing on the edges of his mind. Batman he can understand. Nightwing he can understand. Hell, there's been some times where he ends up caring for a child or two under alias at various safehouses because a parent needs a quick babysitter. 

She squints at him. "Why Red Hood?" 

"No, seriously, why Red Robin?" At her silence, he sighed. "I'm not going to get him in trouble, or hurt him, or harm him or anything like that. I'm just curious why on Earth did you choose Red Robin over, an Arrow or someone else." He waves a hand, keeping a facade of bláse. 

"Oh," she pauses, looking down at her glass before staring at him again, her face screwed up with determination. "I have a question."

"I asked first," he challenges, raising an eyebrow. 

"And I'll tell you once you answer my question," she responds, fast. He leans back. "Fine. Shoot." 

"Do you hate the LGBT community?" It's sudden, harsh. She's looking at a particular spot, not him anymore, at least, not directly. Her posture had changed, away from sitting up ram-rod straight, and curving more into something that's sickenly familiar. 

"No. No I do not," he says, quiet. He watches her take a shaky breath, a nod that seems more for herself than for him. He's. Surprised. He shouldn't, but yet that question came from nowhere except. 

She is not looking at him, but she is also not backing down. 

"My name is Jenna," He doesn't move, doesn't blink. "This is my name, and no one can take that away from me. I chose my name. And I am a girl but." She stops, shrinking into herself. "But." 

Things click into place.

Jason's a Bat, adopted by Wayne. But he's not from the suburbs, from Bristol. He's from the East End, from Crime Alley. He's used to seeing more than cookie cutter looks, cookie cutter identities. There was a transwoman that used to give him a cookie or a sweet ever so often, back when it was just him and his Mom. Sometimes she would ruffle his hair, her bright fake nails barely grazing his scalp, her smile tired but real, fond. She was a hooker by trade, but everyone knew- it was in the hint of shadow that was on the underside of her square jaw, the prominence of her adam's apple. Everyone knew, but no one cared, not even when she ended up dead from a Joker attack. 

There was also this trans girl that used to sleep in the alleyway beside one of his safety houses. She never spoke a word to him, but every so often he would hear her voice mumble to gang members, to Bats, that she hadn't seen him at all. She kept her mouth shut and in return he would leave takeout boxes, or in some cases, bottles of estrogen from pharm busts in places where she would find it. Eventually, she had disappeared, either due to opportunities or death, he's unsure. 

There's a group of queer youths that squat in one of the warehouses, around five to fifteen, and maybe he gives them a hint when he hears some chatter about a Rogue planning something near the dock. Nothing really, just making sure that the civilians are kept away from the life if they want to. They usually give him a nod as they pass, scattering or keeping their mouth shut when one of them gets caught by police- as if anyone of them would be squealing to pigs. They give him wary eyes, but for the most part keep to themselves, their clothes a mismatch of purloined items that they could fit and run with, their bodies hunching over to hide in shadows. 

Jenna isn't any of those. She's a proper little girl who wears dresses and has manners and still calls herself wrong. She hides in shadows and keeps a wary eye. She would willingly walk the streets of Gotham, but avoid the children's section of a library. 

Avoid other kids and parents and prejudices. 

Jason is getting a nasty feeling in his gut.

"I am a girl," she starts again. "Even if the Parents didn't see me as that," she says. He raises an eyebrow. "What did they see you as?" 

She shrugs. "Replaceable." 

Ice. Theres. His veins are ice as he numbly listens to her speak. 

Of anger and positions and how she was wrong because she couldn't be a _tool_ , she couldn't figure out how to just be _useful,_ only worthless. She spoke of hands, and hisses. Of glass and stone and silence, of unpredictable schedules, unpredictable rules, and knowing that her time was running out. How to hide and climb and _escape,_ just for a moment, to watch the Arrows, sometimes. Watch how they work. Saw other superheroes, even got saved by one, once. An out-of-towner that was helping Speedy. 

He had red wings. 

Listening to her talk about Red Robin is surreal. Listening to her gush about Tim is surreal. This Kid- this kid talks about scrapbooks and printed articles and is such a little fangirl for Red Robin. 

He listens when she realized that he was a Bird not an Arrow and more importantly a Bat had people helping, and she thought- 

She thought- 

She thought she could be by his side. As an assistant. Because the Parents- 

"I mean, they said they had plans for a real child, that I would be leaving soon, and the foster system- there's stories online," her face is filled with worry. "And the statistics show that I had an increased chance of getting assaulted or worse. So I took my chances and asked him for a job." He stares numbly at her. Just. 

She talks about how Red Robin got her this apprenticeship. And she's excited for it. How Tim, how Tim-

"Kid, child labor is illegal." And morally reprehensible. "You can't- it's not an apprenticeship." 

She looks uncertain now. "He said he couldn't hire me," she repeats, "But he says this is an apprenticeship. Which means he's legally obligated to care for me, and provide me with housing and meals, and provide for my education as he prepares me for the real world." And that sounds less like an apprenticeship and more like the basic requirements of parenting in his book. "He also says he's fostering me, but." 

"But?" He prompted. 

She shrugs. "It doesn't make sense why he would want to foster me. We don't share the same blood type, and maybe we're a match for organs or blood marrow, but it's harder for organs to be transferred if the blood type-"

"People don't foster children for their _organs,_ " he spits. People foster children for other horrible reasons, but he knows that somewhere, some families foster children 'cause they want to, you know, _help._

"Not usually, no," she says. "But Red Robin is a hero, and works for a multi-billion corporation, so it's not like he's doing it for the usual circumstances." She cocks her head. "He doesn't want to hurt me, he spends time with me, he doesn't need the money, and any of the usual reasons…" she makes a face and says nothing about it. He grimaces, only letting the thought of some of his old foster homes flash across his mind. Tim isn't like that. No matter what, Tim will _never_ be like that. "So, obviously, he needs organs, but he got me instead," she finishes, a small frown on her face. "I want to help more. So I have this apprenticeship and it's going pretty fine so far. I'm learning vigilante stuff along with civilian regular knowledge." 

Jason hums, non-committal, because hearing how she speaks about herself, about her past- fuck, he's barely dealing with his own bullshit. He's definitely not equipped to handle the fragile mess someone has to be when they're a child and preferring to live with a _vigilante,_ especially one like Tim _._

And that's the kicker. 

Dick, Roy, Kate, hell, Babs or even _Bruce_ would be good. Jason thought about kids a couple of times. Really it just comes down to simply two facts. 

The people he listed? Are fans of having children. Want children. _Have_ children. 

Tim? Isn't on the list. 

Tim isn't a kid fan. 

He never was. Maybe it's because he spent most of his life alone or with half-assed parents-and yeah, maybe Willis liked using his fists, and Catherine was a druggie, but some of the stuff that Tim had casually mentioned that Jack did, or the _lack_ of what Janet would do, it made Jason's stomach curl. The worst is that Tim didn't seem to even notice or care. Or perhaps just with everything, he couldn't bring himself to care about old scars, more worried about the newer ones. But whatever the reasons, it also made him be cold. Sharp. He could research the best ways of parenting, but the idea of actually parenting a child seems to escape him. Jason's spent time watching him deal with de-aged superheroes a handful of times, and Tim isn't good with kids. If you told Jason that Tim would pull a Bruce and adopt a kid, he would laugh his ass off before going to punch some sense into the fucker because what? 

But as he looks around the safehouse, the place that Tim had usually called his "facade," there are elements of life in the place. The cool, minimalist design has been replaced with more warmer tones, of wood, of cloth. A bit more security at the perimeters. There's two analog clocks already added to the open floor plan, in visible sight for a kid to see. He sees the calendar on the fridge.

Tim wouldn't let things like scheduled or pictures be out where anyone could see- their lives are too dangerous for that. Too bloody. But he would make it so that someone was happy. Bend over backwards to make people happy. 

Tim's obviously trying to make her happy. He's going at it a weird way, with the "apprenticeship" but it did make sense. She sees herself as a broken tool (god that, that's just fucking wrong) and there's a lot more reasoning, but it makes _sense._ Call it an apprenticeship, an internship- she obviously knows those definitions. She doesn't understand what things like "parents are supposed to unconditionally love you" that much is obvious. 

There's more he's missing, he's sure; maybe it's time for him to stick around a bit longer in Gotham, figure out the missing pieces, make sure the Rep-Tim doesn't fuck up, doesn't accidentally leave this chickadee alone. You know. Lend a hand with the patrol.

Maybe it's the fact that he still needs to talk to Roy, hear a familiar voice. Maybe it's the stitches in his side. Maybe it's the fact that it still fucking _hurts_ to even think about Biz and Artemis and outside of Gotham, everything reminds him of them.

That's a lot of maybes. He taps against his glass, watching the condensation slide down the glass. 

He'll need a steady income. Maybe a new project. He's been hearing rumors that Penguin is maybe getting a bit reckless, a bit too arrogant. There would be something amazing, destroying Penguin's network. Or not destroying. 

Taking it, like the fucker did to plenty of innocent victims of his. Molding it, reshaping it into something that truly becomes his own, something that Jason could use to his own advantage, to help. All of them know business, and it would be easy enough to-

"So, you're coming back next Tuesday, right?" He blinks and she's not looking at him, but there was a hopeful tinge in her voice. 

"No." Because he is not going to bend over to a kid. Not even Tim's kid. Not even if she has a shitty childhood under her belt, and thinks that being with Bats is better than what she had. He has a life, a choice. 

Her eyes flit over to his as she raises an eyebrow. "Why not? You enjoy the library, and I go there every Tuesday."

"Well-"

"And I know about your other lifestyle, and I have done my research. I also live with a vigilante, a Bat. If it's about the fact that I live with a Bat, then why do you work with them sometimes? And it's not like you're a monster, you don't hurt children, there's _proof_."

"Well-"

"And I'm apprenticing. I'm supposed to learn a variety of skill sets that can help me once I enter the workforce. And you have a variety of skill sets that can help me survive Gotham and not die, like an _idiot."_

"Now hold on-" 

"And I would listen. To your instructions." 

He pauses. Looks at her. Considers. 

"You aren't at the moment," he says, eyes narrowing. All she does is give him an innocent look. He doesn't believe it for a second.

"I would listen if you taught me how to survive Gotham and how to be a proper Gothamite every Tuesday from 1pm to 2pm."

"It's going to take more than an hour to teach you, kid, hell, not even your lifetime would be enough." And fuck, she ain't giving him puppy eyes, but the look of pure want and eagerness is making him feel all soft. Fuck him. He's got a soft spot with kids and maybe the fact that she's asking him to teach her, to show her Gotham, how to be a true Gothamite. Maybe the fact that she helped reminded him about his little pockets of peace he once had. Maybe it's the fact that she wants to learn from him. She's already in this mess- once Tim makes up his mind, he rarely goes back, and with this one, he's damn positive she's here to stay. He might as well teach her how to properly survive Gotham, survive the world. 

He's been getting a little tired of traveling, and Gotham is shitty, but it's familiar. And yet it changes, morphs, moves. Some old buildings have been torn down. Some new buildings have been built. Dick's memory has been getting better. Tim acquired a kid. Obviously shit's been going down in Gotham, and maybe he needs to stay to keep a finger on the pulse. He gives Jenna a look, observing the proper, polite, and peculiar child. 

"I need to talk it out with Tim." It's all he says, but it's an admittance. And she knows it. 

She gives him a grin, a vague mirror of Red Robin's sharp one, leaning over the counter to click her glass with his. "To the start of a new academic venture." He huffs at her words, rolling his eyes as he clicks his glass against hers again and taking a swallow. He watches as her grin gets wider, messier. Real.

"Can you teach me how to break into a bank vault?" He blinks, before grinning at her with the same sincerity. 

"To new academic ventures" indeed. The Little Chickadee and him are going to have _fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of Jason walking down the street next to a little girl wouldn't get out of my head so blame that.
> 
> The poem in question is from Rosalia de Castro's anthology, from "Bells of Bastables" section five. I originally had it as a stand-in, but honestly? I feel like that section speaks to Jason. 
> 
> Also, Jason definitely a lit nerd in this Universe. Fight me.


	2. Interlude: Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was late in Star City. 
> 
> (When Tim met Jenna.)

Children, he knows, are supposed to be messy. 

They're supposed to be loud and bright and messy and colorful. They're supposed to be little heathens, all noodly limbs and strong opinions in small fragile bodies. They're chaotic in a way that natural disasters are, wild and uncontrollable and yet able to radiate wonder. 

Children makes him cringe. Children are messy and sticky and aren't like cars or alien tech or a controlled explosion. Babies are worse because they're so tiny and soft and he's very much _not_. He's too sharp for children, too harsh for children, he's not used to kids- even when someone would get magically de-aged, he was usually the last in the baby-corralling group. 

This is extenuating circumstances. 

For this child is not messy, rather clean, even in their ragged clothes, perfect for blending in the streets, and rather than screaming, they're quiet. 

He knew- there was an incident. A multiverse incident that resulted in no bloodshed and only interrupted movie time, otherwise the only reason it took as long was because it was going so well to hang out and not have to worry. Another Justice League team fell into their universe by accident. They went over to the watchtower, opened a portal, and left. 

They left information behind and- 

She had asked to just check on the child, she just wanted to make sure the child was alright, that's _it._ Nothing more. He didn't need to take all of these steps. He should of just called...someone and not-

Tim stares at the child, face blank, hair short, and eyes filled with hope and devotion and something that looks like love or maybe hero worship. They're holding a scrapbook tightly in their hands. 

It is almost midnight, and Tim is Red Robin, standing on a penthouse balcony with a small child in Star City.

His chest _aches._

"You're here," the child whispers, a dazed look on their face. "You're _here_." 

Through the glass, he sees a fancy apartment that looks like a catalog, and not a home. It is dark. It is silent. He is 100% sure that the child is it's only living being. 

(Mia did the Intel, before he left to come here, and one of the first sentences she said to him as she passed the dossier was: "That is no home.") 

"Are you Jenna?" He asks, and it was the right question, because her eyes got wider and he knew, right then and there, that she loves him, loves him as he loved Robin (flying bright, flying high, flying with hope) as he loved Bruce (as he still loves Bruce, even after everything.)

 _"You know my real name?"_ He smiles, and feels something unfurl in his chest. "I do." He watches as her spine straightens, her head held high. She pulls out a piece of paper from the scrapbook, placing said book on the ground as she holds out-

It's a resume. 

"Mr. Red Robin," she swallows. "Are you accepting applications for a new assistant?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My excuse: It's Batman. I can totally use comic-book science and logic.


	3. Steph, Cass & Babs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to a mall is better than writing a physics essay. 
> 
> (The Batgirls meet Jenna the Kid)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, if it's not clear, this story is non-linear, so it's before Jason, but after the Interlude. 
> 
> TW: Mild Transphobia from nameless OC's, mentions of implied child abuse. Uh, the implied/mentioned child abuse is one sentence in passing. I put asterisks, so you can skip the transphobia.

They. Are Surprised. 

Backtrack: They’re fucking shocked as shit, because what the scene was? Wasn’t what they expected, what they were prepared for. 

Give a girl, a break, you know? Patrol had been rough and maybe they were all chilling in Oracle’s apartment because Cass likes to paint her nails by the window and Steph sometimes needs Babs to be a cheerleader, especially since this week so far has been terrible and she really needs to finish the Essay-From-Hell since, apparently pre-med students still need courses like _Physics._ And then Cass got an “SOS” from Tim. _Tim,_ Tim didn't do texts of "SOS" unless it was dire or something was going on between him and Jason. Or him and Damian. It had been concerning that Tim tended to bring out the homicidal tendencies from the other two, but it had been _years_ since the last active murdery attempt, and to be fair, Tim could be an asshole back. But Tim texted "SOS" and he _hated_ sounding weak. It was like his Achilles heel, like B and emotions. 

So they had followed his trackers to his place and they're dreading it because everything looks normal which means it’s _not,_ only when they bust in, Tim isn't hurt or in danger. 

They bust in, scaring the hell out of a child, Tim, and Tam. 

They stare at the scene. Tam stares horrified at them. Tim is currently trying to soothe a panicking child also there's a child why is there a child? Just because they were women didn't mean that they were good with kids. Yes, Batgirl was good with kids and Stephanie Brown was good with kids, but that doesn’t mean that one should assume that they were good with kids. 

It may have been a while since Steph slept properly. 

"Batgirl report," Oracle's terse voice came through the com. 

Batgirl and Black Bat looked at each other. 

A small click. "Hey O? You're good with kids, right?" 

* * *

It turned out that Tim had meant to text _Cassie,_ not Cass, and Tim was running late to an important Wayne Enterprises Meeting, and Lucius had asked Tam to grab Tim, which was Not Her Job, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. 

It also turned out that the kid was his. He was fostering a child. 

Steph has questions about the Fostering System of Gotham, and the fact that somehow they allowed a twenty-something to foster a child, but at the same time, it was the fostering system of _Gotham_ , what did any of them expect? 

Tam was Not Pleased. Neither were they, at all, but Tam was definitely doing a good job of reaming out Tim, so they were content to just watch. And maybe clean up the glass and tape up the busted window, since they were nice and heroes and such. 

The child is still silent, and staring hard at Tam. There was a little furrow to their brow, and damn, that's the look of a pretty unhappy child. 

"Seriously Tim! You can't just, do this. I have a life, outside of dealing with your bullshit, and fostering some little-"

"Girl."

Eyes shot to the child, with their short haircut, their pants, their blue shirt. "I'm a girl, and my name is Jenna." It’s said quietly, but there was strength in her words. 

_Oh,_ Steph thinks. _Oh, dear. Timmy what have you done?_

Tim surprises them both. 

He turns to the- the girl. 

"Jenna-bird," Steph never heard him sound like that before. "This is Tam, she runs Neon Knights." 

"I'm the person who saves your ass on occasion," Tam snarks. "I'm also the one who's currently trying to save your ass from the Board." 

"This is Tam, she saves my ass," Tim repeats, if a bit louder. 

The girl shuffles on her feet. "Oh." It sounds so sad, and fuck, Steph's chest aches for this child. "Is that why you rejected my inquiry?" 

Uh. So many questions are going through Steph's head (and Cass', she betted, and O's) about that statement. 

"No, that's not the reason, Jenna," he's still smiling at her. "It's what I said before: you're in a position better suited for your strengths and skills." 

"Okay," she still sounds small and sad. "You. You need to go right? Because you have meetings" 

Tam takes over. "Yes, he has meetings, meetings that has been pushed back, again, and again-"

Tim straightens. "Meetings that can be handled through _digital interface, not-_ "

And as they argue, the girl somehow physically gets smaller and smaller, and even Steph can see the desperation on Tim's face, the strain as he's trying to fight with Tam and yet reassure the girl that. 

Well, something. And her heart goes out and-

"We will watch her." Cass, face solemn. 

Babs makes a noise that Steph has only heard a shocked Dick make before, but Steph's already next to Cass, agreeing. "We can watch her, Timmers. Just think of us at Bat-Babysitters." 

Tim and Tam stare at her. Cass and Babs stare at her. The girl is white as a sheet. 

"I," Tim hesitates, eyes wavering, and she knows that waver, knows that he's about to say yes, to agree, but it's still too long, apparently, for Tamara Fox. 

"Done and Done, let's go Tim." And Tam, God bless her, tries to actually tug Tim away. The last person to have done that was part-Kyrptonian, and even he had minor issues dragging Boy Wonder away. 

Tim ignores her and goes to face the girl, crouching in front of her, and it's- he's too quiet, talking too softly for her to even hear, but the girl nods her head, some tension leaving her shoulders. He smiles, patting her shoulder as he leaves. 

"My phone will be on," he starts, looking at the girl. "Call me if-"

"Drake!" Tam shoves him out the door, closing it with a slam. 

So they're left with a broken window and a wary tiny child who's looking at them like they're about to jump her. 

Cass is the one who makes the first move. 

Cautiously, she goes to the girl. The girl is frozen. Cass kneels down. The girl does nothing but stare at her, face blank, but her entire body is tense. Her eyes never leave Cass as Cass slowly removes her mask, letting her entire face show, motioning to her to do the same. Steph, she walks up and does the same- because while the girl was terrified, she wasn't surprised. She relaxes as she keeps giving both of them the Care Bear Stare rather hard. 

"Oh," she breathes. "You have kind faces." 

And that means something and yet nothing, but Cass beams, so it's probably something good. And she's never heard of anyone insulting someone by saying they have a kind face. Jenna herself is making a pretty good copy of a curious bird with her head cocked to the side, her green eyes staring at them, a brown lock of hair curling against her forehead. 

Her hair and eye color remind her of her mom. 

She rocks back up on her heels, making both Cass and the kid blink at her, but luckily, Babs the Grump interrupts, dragging attention over to her, because she's a grump that hates to leave her room, like a grump. "Don't you have school?" She asks. And that's. Fair. It's a school day, and she looks to be at least the age that you would go to school. 

The child shrugs. "I have lessons in the morning, but he said today was special, and we were going clothes shopping at the mall." Oh, that's... that's unusual of Tim. Sweet, but unusual. The boy hates places like those, so the fact that he suggested it, either says he really cares, or really desperate. Maybe both. 

Then in the tiniest voice she adds: "He said I would be allowed to pick out anything that I wanted." 

Steph looks at Cass. Babs looks at both of them.

They go to the mall. 

* * *

The mall is what they expected. 

If anything, it's gotten a bit shittier. She remembers going out with school friends, laughing at the food court, window shopping. She remembers feeling bored, but happy, as hanging out here was one of the few times she could ignore the fact that her piece of shit father kept trying to "make it big" and her mom. 

Her mom was just tired. Tired and out of her mind with pain meds but now everything's better, even if she's slowly regretting going into med school because pre-med has some asshole teachers and hates that she has to rely on Wayne money to pay for tuition because being a vigilante and a hero doesn't help with scholarships. And she hates thinking about going into the Thomas Wayne Foundation since she actually knows B, and there's someone else out there that needs a scholarship more than her. She has to rely on Tim or B like some _pathetic-_

A sharp jab on her shoulder startles her. She looks over to where Cass is frowning. 

"Stop it," she chides gently. "You are good." 

Steph smiles at Cass, curling her hand in the others. Cass, she thinks, is the best, and no one will ever change her mind. 

She hears Babs hum beside Cass, and looks down to see the girl trotting obediently beside her. 

The girl looks upper class, that's for sure- something in her spine and face that just screams "Richie Rich." Tim has that look too, much to his own displeasure. It's in the cheekbones or something- rich people just vibe different, even Gothamites. 

Her hair is short, still cut into a length that makes it easier to-confuse people. She's in a blue shirt that's a bit too short on her, and sparkly jeans that're patched with random pieces of other jeans and are completely early 2000s. She has on sneakers that's seen better days.

...Steph swears she's seen those jeans before, or at least a style of them-

It clicks in her head- Cassie- Wonder Girl. She'll bet actual money that those are some of Wonder Girl's hand-me-downs, because of course they would know before any Bat. It makes sense, since you know, She hasn't spoken to Tim outside of patrol in months and the last time they argued and-

And-

(There was one time he was the best thing in her stupid boring life.)

"Is there any store you want to go into?" She smiles at the girl, and tries not to let it twist into a grimace when the kid flinches and says nothing, just looking around warily. 

(How old would her baby be?) 

This was a mistake. She's not- fuck she's wasn't _prepared._ Tim has a child and she’s in college to be a bad-ass doctor and _Tim had a child._ A small, dark part that sounded like Ra's al Ghul (that fucker) hissed that Tim didn't have her child, but she quickly destroyed that thought because _fuck no._ No. She was going to be a doctor and help out people and be a badass both in a coat and a cloak. She's going to be what Leslie was to her, to a bunch of people. She's currently Batgirl and fucking rocking it. Maybe kids one day, but not when she still has to deal with course loads and exams and that's not even talking about finding a _residency-_

"This store looks good," Cass is tugging at her arm, dragging her out of her thoughts- again. She really should've had that cat nap earlier. 

"They still have Gap?" She blinks at the blue square above the glass doors, slightly amazed. "Isn't that a little...preppy?" 

"Tim's a prep," Babs murmurs, wheeling through the doors. “It works out.”

"Tim's not a prep," she argues, because sure, he went to prep school, but he wasn't _prep._

"He played Tennis, he's a prep." 

"He used to skateboard, he's not a prep," she says as she starts browsing the rack, trying to find anything that would look good. "Also, he likes the Clash." 

"Bruce likes the Clash, and _he_ used to play badminton," Barbara replies, which, hold up, hold the _phone._

"Bruce played _Badminton?"_

"Mm. Not very long, but long enough for there to be pictures." The redhead is grinning. "Pictures that were uploaded to the internet. And found.”

"Oh my god." Steph looks at her. "Please tell me he wore like, the whole outfit." Her entire being needs them. 

"All in a lovely shade of neon yellow and coral," Babs promises and Steph needs those pictures _yesterday._

"Babs, Barbara," she goes to her knees, clasping her hands in front of her. "Goddess of all, angel of everything right and good-"

Babs laughs. "They're on your laptop in a folder marked "Reminders." I've also added ones of Dick in full disco gear, and the time Jason was in a school play." Babs' grin is full on _feral._ "It was As You Like It, and he played one of the waiting lords." 

_"Angel,"_ she breathes, and already she can't wait to grab her laptop. "A miracle worker." Babs just laughs and goes to another rack.

They keep scouring the racks, not really finding anything for themselves, trying to find something for the girl, but Jenna just blinks and says okay to anything they show her, and-

She remembers being very particular about her clothes. Extremely particular. Hell, she remembers having a _temper tantrum_ because she wanted the cool purple sneakers with the charms but Mom said no and tried to say that another pair of (cheaper) pink sneakers were just as good. But Jenna is just saying okay and not really looking at the growing stack of clothes. 

Her phone rings. 

"Yello?" 

"Hey Steph," came the relieved voice of Tim. “Just checking in- how’s she doing?”

 _Quiet,_ she wants to say. _Tim, why do you have her?_

_Why didn't you tell us?_

_Why didn't you tell me?_

“She’s doing okay,” Steph glances down to where the girl perks up, eyes on the phone, walking to her.

“May I have permission to speak with him, miss?” The girl looks up at her. She gives her a smile. “What’s the magic word?” she teases and that was the wrong thing to say because the girl just pales and looks terrified, shrinking in a bit. 

Shit. 

"Steph, give her the phone." Ah, that's Red Robin's voice, right there. Nice going, Batgirl.

Fuck this week. And it's only _Wednesday._

She shoves the phone into Jenna’s hands, walking off a bit to give her some privacy and to try and remove the image of the girl looking like she _failed_ a test. 

“That was an interesting reaction,” Babs commented as she drew closer to where they'd been standing off to the side. Cass hums, head cocked as she watches the girl. 

She’s more animated to say the least. The girl is smiling as she chatters on the phone, clutching gently at the case. She had shoved her body into a small corner of a display area, the people around not even glancing at her as they walked on by, even with her talking. 

“So I’ve checked his bank records,” Babs starts, still looking at the child. “Turns out he bought a single ticket to Star City a couple months back, and yet used a private jet on the ride back. Records indicate that’s when he started making purchases.”

“Purchases?” She asks, and she can hear Cass hum in question as well. 

“Books, paint, furniture, a regular monthly order of groceries, new pots and pans- kind of what you would be doing if you randomly acquire a kid,” Babs glances up at her. “He’s been reading and favoriting a lot of parenting blogs and vlogs as well,” she says. “Plus, CCTV caught some metas that have been sneaking in and out of Gotham more frequently as well. Three guesses who those would be.”

Of course. “Figures those would know before us.” And she hadn’t meant to sound _bitter,_ but something about the whole “Core Four” stuff kind of...stung. It was as if it didn’t matter who Steph was, the nights of patrol, fighting and taking names. All those three had to do is wiggle a finger and Tim would come running. Granted, usually when that happened it was during an apocalypse, but still. 

Okay, she didn’t appreciate Superboy going all “He’s my bestie” while glaring at her, alright? Yes, Tim and her used to date, and _Yes_ , it kind of ended badly, and _yes,_ they dated a couple of times after, and _yes_ during the last time it went bad and she never seen him look so broken and she felt _awful-_

Cass pokes her side again, shaking her head. “You are good. Just different now.”

Right. Tim and her and better off because they’re different now. She gives a smile to Cass. 

Babs pats her hand, still a bit brusque. “Other than that- even B has noticed that Tim is cutting down on the caffeine, and not overworking as he usually does. He’s been more and more upfront on B telling him in advance on information mining, setting up boundaries. B’s actually a little miffed about that.” Babs grinned. “He can’t throw anything at Tim and expect him to take it like he did before.” And that was always a point of contention with Babs. She worked hard to become Oracle, something that Batman somehow forgets, from time to time. And if O said no, then he would turn to Tim, who usually said yes, even if he was overwhelmed already. It’s funny how B could have all these walls and boundaries, but everyone else couldn’t. It was something that pissed all of them off, but Babs especially. She already has a paranoid father, a usual argument to Bruce, She doesn’t need a second one. 

"You know what's weird?" Steph says. "That it took having a child for Tim to, like, actually be an adult." Because the not-overworking, setting boundaries, all that? She calls that an adult. 

"One would argue that he was an adult, way too early," Babs commented, "But you're right, the fact that he has actual food in his fridge is pretty shocking." Steph isn't sure how Babs knows this, but she is the Oracle and the OG Batgirl, so. Probably Alfred magic or something. 

"Not really," Cass shrugs. "First time he stayed. In one place. She makes it easier for him to stay." She ruffles through a rack. "And he likes helping people. Having her means that he needs...to help himself as well."

And that. Makes sense. 

Tim likes to help. Tim helps people even when they don't want help, even when it ventures into crazy, or him getting injured. He's always wanting to protect, to prove himself, even when the words that come out of his mouth are completely Grade-A asshole. It's why she loved him once, why she did fall in love with the skinny boy with the awkward smirk. Why she still loves him, only a bit differently now. 

It's hard sometimes. To remember her Robin, and connect it with Red Robin. 

Cass is looking around, confused. That's...new, except it makes sense because Jenna has been too quiet for a while and _where is the kid._

The girl is nowhere in visual range. She's gone. 

"Oh god," she feels her face paling. Already Babs is wheeling to security, already Cass is gone, looking for the child. "Tim is going to lose his shit." 

* * *

Tim does not lose his shit because Tim will not find out about how it took nearly the entire security team including them, and Babs hacking the videos to find one child. 

One child that is apparently almost a fucking ninja, but _one_ child. She's not even a baby assassin. Well, Steph doesn't think she's a baby assassin, she's not too sure if Tim would be willing to parent a baby assassin, especially since he's used to baby assassins like Damian. Or Cass. 

It _would_ be like him to parent a baby assassin and not tell anyone, Jesus Christ. 

Jenna is found in the mall backstage area with all the halls and fluorescent lights, and currently listening to some retail workers gossip, nodding along to their complaints. 

"No, you should get unionized," she was saying. "Working for a week straight with minimal breaks is illegal, and _wrong,_ specifically with the labor-" 

"Jenna!" Steph can't help but run to her, hugging her close. She feels the kid stiffen in her arms but she doesn't care because holy shit she lost a kid. She lost a kid and she's Batgirl Like, she used to babysit and she lost a kid. Tim's kid. Tim's kid sort of. Jesus, she must be the worst- 

"No," a hand lightly thwaps her on the back of her head, and she grins up at Cass, arms loosening. Cass just gives her the patented Cass Smile. 

Steph low-key hates how she's been spiraling, but it's been a rough week of school and patrol, not adding the new situation with the rugrat. She nudges Cass' legs, already promising herself to pay for Cass' dinner as they apologize to the staff members, leaving them to their break. 

"Why on Earth did you leave?" Good old Babs, right to the point, just as they're out of eye and ear shot. 

The girl at least looked properly contrite, but silent, not looking at either of them. Great. It's been like pulling teeth to get her to open up. 

Cass leans down, and both her and Babs watch as they both study each other, eyes wide and unblinking. 

"Oh," Cass sighs. "Sorry. We should of known you were…" she's doing the clicking noise, the one where she's trying to get a word out. "Unhappy." She nods to herself. 

Jenna shrugs. "Not your fault," she mumbles. "It was just _a lot_ and I wanted to be somewhere _safe_ " The way she pronounces safe, enunciates the word, makes something twist in Steph's chest. She does have a question though. 

"...A mall's backstage hall is safe?" Jenna just keeps looking down. Steph is having a hunch. 

“Have you been to a mall before?” The girl hesitates before shaking her head. 

Oh. Well doesn’t she feel like an idiot. She glances at Babs and Cass and they’re both looking concerned at the girl. 

“You...have not really been to places before,” Cass says, hesitantly. “Not safe.”

“I don’t know this area,” Jenna says, frowning. "If I know the area then I'm fine. But I _didn't_ , and I just wanted to find my safety route when I needed it." And that’s. That’s a loaded statement. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Babs asks.

Jenna shrugs. "You were busy, I didn't want to bother you." 

They were looking at clothes, and Steph opens her mouth to say exactly that, but- 

She wasn't looking at her. She wasn't looking at anyone. Her back was straight and head forward, but it was as if she was trying her hardest to make herself invisible. There was a hint of resignation in her neutral face.

She looks very much like she's expecting something. 

Steph leans down, trying to catch her eye. 

"Hey Jenna?" Green eyes look at her. "Where _do_ you want to go?" They should've asked before, before this even happened, but they can ask right now. 

The child hesitates. 

"Are you sure?" She's still looking at them. Steph smiles, a winning smile, a Stephanie Brown patented smile. "Yeah, Jenna, this is for you," keep her voice kind, kind, gentle. 

She's fidgeting, looking away again. "I can still get what I want right? Even if it's not. Not what Mr. Dad wears?" And there's a strain in her voice.

Oh. 

Steph ignores Babs muttered curse as she continues to smile at the girl, begging some sort of higher being to at least, you know, give a girl a hand here. "Oh, no, no you can definitely pick out whatever you want, Jenna; literally anything you want and we'll get it and you get to keep it for yourself."

The kid is still looking nervous. "And it's- mine, right? I get to keep it? No matter what?" She's sounding like they would take her clothes away if she like, was bad or something-

Oh. Fuck. Steph feels her eyes widen.

What are the chances that scenario is what _exactly_ happened? 

She's probably never had the ability to dress like she wanted to before- again, she has this rich kid vibe, a bit too poised for a kid her age to be- and probably whoever were her parents, they probably _would_ take her things when she misbehaves. Fuck, Tim mentioned how a couple of classmates at those fancy private schools were twitchy because they were used to their rich ass parents taking like, phones or computers and locking them in their rooms for days at a time- all for dumb things like not getting straight A's, or like, not being their little elite puppets. Tim always said how he was glad that at least his parents didn't do that to him. Sure, they were gone most of the year, and like, Jack definitely had anger issues, but at least they didn't do any of _that._

Steph learned a lot about how shitty elite parents were to their kids. 

Jenna is still waiting for an answer, she realizes. She'd stopped fidgeting, but it was easy to read how nervous she still was, the tense shoulders, the perfectly blank face. 

A pale hand comes to rest on the small shoulder. 

Babs had wheeled up next to Steph, leaning down to meet Jenna's eyes, blue meeting green. 

"I promise," Babs' voice is quiet, solemn. It's the Batgirl voice. "That you will never have your identity stolen from you again." 

"We will protect," Cass' voice is soft as she kneels on the other side of Steph. "You can be _you._ " 

"Girls protect other girls," Steph adds, and Jenna is looking at all of them, a look that only Steph sees as Batgirl, eyes wide and shining and like she's Superman. Steph keeps grinning. "Like it or not, you're one of us now, and we Batgirls stick together." 

"A family," Steph can smell the scent of Jasmine from Cass' hair as she leans her head against Steph's shoulder. "A place of safety." 

"You have our word, Jenna," Babs says, "You can be you. Really you." And Babs' voice is kind as she says "Why don't you show us where _you_ want to go clothes shopping?" 

Jenna stares, fully stares, and it's exactly like being under a Cass' stare, she's obviously searching for something, and when she finds what she's looking for, a small, real smile blooms across her face. 

"Okay," she says, "I will." 

* * *

Jenna leads them to the other side of the mall, where instead of a Dillards, a giant thrift store has opened up. She makes a beeline inside, and this time, Cass is on her heels. Steph grabs a shopping cart, catching the eye of Babs and yeah, no, Steph can get a shopping cart, she's not like the boys and thinks Babs' lap can be a cart. That's how all of your shit gets tossed into bins or weird places because Babs can be petty as hell when she wants to be. 

And a piece of cloth catches her eye and ohh that's a pretty blouse that would look great on Babs and there's some pants that Cass could totally rock and there's this bomb as _fuck_ purple jacket that would look amazing with a shirt she has-

The cart is overflowing with colors, textures. Jenna had picked out several outfits for herself, including shoes, leaning towards functional over pretty. They all tried to convince her to get something, you know, not-practical, but other than some really cute tops, some nice skirts and shorts, and a jean jacket that was _itching_ to be covered in patches and pins, the girl didn’t stray too far from more androgynous clothing. 

And given some of the looks Jenna got from other customers, Steph hated to admit that she may be right in staying close to it. Which sucked, because even though all three of them glared back, it's not like anyone was confrontational about it. It was all just side eyes and glares. She did sneak in a couple of bracelets she saw the girl looking at, keeping an eye to make sure she didn't get flighty and run off again.

But she seemed content, walking right next to the wheelchair and talking about anything and everything. She was currently mid-story about when Bart came over and they made cookies when she stopped walking, eyes glued to a store front. Mannequins showcased a variety of children's dresses and suits, from casual to formal. It was one of those random dress shops, the ones that acted all fancy and bespoked and not inside a _mall,_ except this one had some pretty nice items, especially some absolutely charming dresses on display.

Jenna's staring at one dress in particular, a cream colored sleeveless sundress that had tiny embroidered robins and cherries dotting the fabric, with red piping on the bottom, and red ties for the halter top. 

It was super adorable. 

"Cute," Babs comments as she sidled up. Jenna says nothing, not even blinking away from it. Cass hums as they both waited for Jenna to go in, or ask to go in, since obviously she wanted it, and Tim was definitely paying for everything, in some form of currency or service-

"Okay, let's go." Jenna turns away. 

"Wait, hold up." Steph places a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Don't you wanna at least go in?" 

The girl just blinks at her, confused, before her face clears. "Oh. No. They won’t ever let me," she shook her head. "But it _is_ beautiful. One of the most beautiful dresses ever. Maybe one day," she sighs. 

Oh, Steph hates that phrase. That stupid phrase that haunted her like a bad smell. She feels her hands start to twitch, and knows Cass is looking at her with concern, but she _really hates that phrase._

Maybe one day. 

Maybe one day dad would be a _real_ parent. Maybe one day Mom would have a job that didn't suck the life out of her. Maybe one day she wouldn’t have a dad that was a complete and utter _jackass._ Maybe one day her dad would finally leave her and her mom alone. Maybe one day their family would have money. Maybe one day Bruce would smile at her and say she's a good Robin. Maybe one day Tim will trust her again. Maybe one day she’ll stop thinking she needs to prove herself to the world. Maybe one day she wouldn’t feel like an imposter, even though she worked damn hard to get where she’s at, work until she’s fucking _exhausted._ Maybe one day, maybe one day. 

Fuck "maybe one day"s. "Maybe one day"s can fuck right off of a _cliff._

She marches right into the store, ignoring the other's shouts of surprise. 

The cashier was this middle aged man, balding, overweight and still had an air of bored arrogance. He raises a brow as she heads to him. 

"How much for the dress in the window?" 

"Which one?" He asks, before his eyes slid to a point off her left shoulder, his gaze hardening as a sneer formed. 

*

"I'm sorry, but I don't sell to _perverts_ ," he spits, his eyes still off to her left, and she's positive that's where Jenna is. "If you want to play dress up, go to a costume store. Or, you know, raise the kid _right_ instead of flaunting your liberal bullcra-"

*

A shadow was in front of Steph. 

"Listen to me, you pathetic, tiny man." Cass tightens her grip on the man's throat, looking over him as she kneels on the counter, eyes meeting his. He gave out a gurgle. "We will be staying. We will have full access to your inventory. We will pick out several dresses for the girl. We will purchase them. We will leave, without you saying another _damn_ word." Cass' voice is soft, deadly as a blade. "Is that clear?" 

Steph leans against Cass' side, feeling a nasty smile, a _Bat_ smile, forming on her face. "You should listen to her. She doesn't like to repeat herself." 

"Ever," Cass promises, hand tightening slightly. 

Babs had started picking out some choices with Jenna, not even glancing in their direction. Sure they can leave, go to a different store, but if the girl wanted a dress from here, then she's _going to get a damn dress from here._

"Well?" Steph asks. "What's it gonna be?"

The man gulps.

* * *

"Now that," Babs purrs. "Was very satisfying."

"Agreed," Cass smiles down at the giddy girl holding her hand, who kept twisting and moving to admire her new dress, running a revenant hand over the tiny embroidered robins and cherries. The cashier was even nice enough to say they were on the house, didn't even have to pay. 

He started visibly shaking as they left. 

They had stopped at a cafe for a late lunch, the girl practically vibrating when people commented on her dress, and how she was a very cute little girl. Jenna smiled and said thank you to every single one. Several women cooed at the kid, and Steph saw from the corner of her eye, passing several slips of paper to Cass. 

Actually, she got some numbers as well, which felt pretty great. 

And after lunch- it’s like a new kid. She talks, she smiles, she actually has preferences. They went into several shops at Jenna’s lead, some of them more fanciful, some of them more practical- apparently she wanted some good boots because she wanted to go back into the woods to look for mushrooms- also she was really into fungi; and Disney Princesses- which was then she went off on a tangent about a flesh-eating fungus and that tangent was quickly distracted by another shop, since, no thank you. Luckily she went back to Princesses and quickly gave them all a designated Disney Princess. Jenna gave her Rapunzel, which was her favorite princess, and Steph didn’t show it, but she totally fist pumped when Jenna’s back was turned. 

All in all, it was a good trip. 

"We need to do a fashion show," Steph replies. "Definitely for Tim." 

"Yes," Cass says and Babs hums her response. The girl blinks at her, a frown on her face. "I've been to fashion shows before," she says doubtfully. "I don't see how we can plan one in such short notice. Or why Mr. Dad would want to see one." 

It really shouldn't surprise her that the kid didn't know about fashion shows, of showcasing your purchases. She quirks a smile at the two other women, who smile back. 

"Kid," she leans down to her. "Let me tell you about a good old fashioned Fashion Show." 

* * *

The first thing Tim did after closing the door behind him was immediately rush up the stairs where Steph saw Jenna last, up in her room getting ready for the fashion show with Cass, which, _rude_ Tim, but also, fair. On the journey back she gave them the slip several times again, somehow finding it to be a game. Or at least, _Cass and her_ treated it like a game. Steph learned some very interesting and new Russian curse words just by listening to Babs as they both searched for the missing members of their group. 

They usually appeared after several moments, amused. Steph was not amused, thank you very much, and neither was Babs, but she at least smiled when the girl presented her shyly with a gift. 

"I found this," Jenna said. "Cause it's really pretty, like you." 

It was a piece of melted metal, shining with a red sheen. Steph had no idea where it came from, except, _Gotham._ At least Babs was nice enough to accept the compliment. Steph kept being handed rocks, all with responses of "it's pretty, like you" or "the color matches your hair" which the rock for _that_ statement was a piece of yellow brick and damn the cosmic irony for that statement. 

They had finally arrived back at the brownstone after several detours with several shopping bags, a shiny metal scrap, a lot of rocks, and for one momentous second, a pigeon. 

"She caught a pigeon," Babs was more fascinated by that then the fucking flying rat in the two tiny hands _no, no, we don't touch the pigeons, we don't know where they've been._

Cass and Jenna were reluctant to let go of the pigeon. "It was for Cass cause it was cuddly" the girl responded sadly. 

"Nice pigeon," Cass sadly replied. "Fat." And it _was_ a fat pigeon, huge really, which is why the child was able to catch it, but _still._

Flying. Rats. 

Steph's sure that the Fat Pigeon is gonna make a reappearance real soon. 

"Hi yourself!" She calls up, unsurprised at the non answer. "Also, Timberlake Jake Drake, get your butt in here when you can." Another pause. "Also the fashion show is starting in five." Babs had wheeled off to another room, citing she needed to check some intel. At the moment Steph's busy lounging in the living room, attempting to read, mostly taking stock about how the townhouse had some different furniture, a bit warmer. Also cleaner- last time she was here there had been papers scattered everywhere, tech and books in random places, and a fuckload of energy drinks and take out boxes in the fridge. You could see the floor now, and there were actual things like vegetables and non-expired milk in the fridge. It's _wild._

"Fashion show?" Tim bounds back down. "Also, I owe you all _so many_ favors, I swear-"

"Oh, no. I mean, yes to the favors but also- you have a kid now?" 

"Ah. Yes." He’s busying himself with picking up some random books and files, which. Tim, cleaning. The world has completely changed. "It's. It's a long story, Steph. Her parents." His face twists. 

Yeah. Steph can read between the lines. "How shitty are they?" 

"Super shitty. God awful," he reshelves some of the books. "Makes B look like Dad of the Century." 

"Huh." She stretches, feeling the bones in her spine pop as she sits up. "Look it's less about you having a kid," Steph rolls her eyes at his snort. "And more like- You didn't tell us? At all." 

And Tim. Tim finally looks at her. 

"Steph, I can tell you that I'm a one missed meeting away from having a panic attack," and it's blunt, a little defensive, and completely _Tim._ "It's really fucking hard and I can't believe Bruce adopted Dick when he was our age. She’s been wearing hand-me-downs from Cassie because neither of us know girl sizes work and last time we tried to enter a department store, _Scarface_ decided to rob the place. She needs an update on shots and checkups but she keeps running away and last time she _hid in the vent_ s and made nearly the _entire clinic_ go on a wild goose chase and I felt so bad that we just left and she hasn’t been back even though she needs to but she’s terrified of doctors _._ And last night I got side-tracked by updates on a case so _Jenna_ was the one who reminded me about dinner _,_ _and_ I burned breakfast this morning, and she said it was fine, she still ate it, but it was not _fine,_ Steph. She ate _charred toast_. Plus the board is being assholes again, Tam’s pissed at me about Jenna, and yesterday the sitter quit because Jenna's "too much" so now I have to find a new sitter because leaving her alone is- the only reason I’m not breaking down _crying_ is that Bart, Kon, and Cassie have been coming over whenever they can but they have lives too. That's why- I was going to tell you, I promise. Literally, I was going to tell you all about her the last time we all met up, but that was the magic-user..." He finally exhales. 

Right, that patrol was a mess due to some asshole weather witch. And they haven’t had a patrol all together since. 

Something unwinds in her chest. Tim’s still _Tim._ A more put-together mess, but thankfully, still the same well-meaning mess. Hearing how he’s trying and panicking just as she is- it makes something in her lizard brain relax, which is kind of mean, but still. "Ah." She sighs, blowing some strands of hair out of her face. "Okay, I'll forgive for that, and the promise that you owe me and Cass and Babs like, three separate dinners, and the promise that we're not kept out of the loop again, cause I know Cass is hurting as well." And she’s - maybe it was buried deep, deep down, but on the trip back, she definitely saw a flash of pain, when Cass was looking at the kid. Cass has always been better at hiding her emotions. 

"Yeah," And his eyes are misty. "Yeah, that's my fault. I'll talk to her." 

"...Tim, why is Jenna _here?"_

The Million-Dollar Question. 

She stares at him. Waits. She's done it before, and she'll do it until he answers. 

"I was doing a favor and just was checking up on her, just some minor recon and..." Tim looked away, his hair falling into his face. "I didn't expect to- she gave me a resume, Steph," he swallows. "She was alone in this empty penthouse, for at least a _month,_ and when I went to visit her- stupid, I know- but she had a scrapbook and a resume. She wants to be my assistant, she- she wants to help me." Oh, Steph didn't know about any of this, and yeah, now there's a picture being painted, and it's one that Tim would’ve seen the parallels of when he became Robin. It's hard not to miss. She watches as he runs a hand through his messy hair, undoing the small bun he'd been sporting. "I would've left her with someone else, but she had no one. Anyone who would of been in her corner already- left. Some form or another."

They left her behind. Steph didn't need Cass to read the unsaid statement. She was left behind. 

She knows, she knows about his parents and how maybe they loved him, they were just kind of shitty cause no one becomes a vigilante because of a healthy and currently alive family. And if Tim did look for someone, tried to look for someone to be there for the girl, and found no one- 

Tim moved mountains for less. Tim performed miracles for _less._ Fostering a kid like Jenna, who just needed someone to be there, to actually look at her, who spent part of the walk back talking about how Red Robin was her favorite hero, who pretty much thought Tim hung the moon and the stars already. It would have been like catnip. He wouldn’t have said no. 

Fuck, Steph wouldn't, in his shoes. She probably just go 'yup' and steal the kid, exactly what Bruce did to Jason. 

...Oh my god, Tim pulled a Bruce. 

"You and B really need to stop acting like some sort of long lost twins." She grins at his grimace. "Seriously. Adopting a kid? One that acts like a ninja? And you live above a Cave? I mean you already overwork and brood on rooftops, all you need now is an Alfred and you'll be set-"

"First off, it’s not my _Cave,_ it’s my _Perch,_ and it’s a basement. There's a _difference."_ There wasn't. "Second, I'm fostering," Tim rolls his eyes again. "She doesn't really believe me," his grin falters, "She thinks it's an apprenticeship." 

"Why?" She has a feeling she doesn't want to know. 

Tim shrugs. "They're- her parents- they're not good people Steph." He gathers a bunch of papers, not looking at her. "If it wasn't for the fact that she hid and ran back here when I took her to a child's psychologist, she would be in therapy. As such, I'm working on convincing her that it's a good thing to go," he says. "It's a work in progress." 

Steph has no idea what to say to that. The fact that Tim, Mr. Dragged-Kicking-And-Screaming to his therapist initially, _eventually_ warming up to his therapist, suggesting therapy speaks volumes on just. He's really changed, in a good way. 

It has to be a good way. 

She hears Babs reentering again and maybe it's the fact that Tim really has changed, is changing, makes her lose her mind a bit. 

"We lost her at the mall." Mouth, you traitor. "I swear it wasn't on purpose, but we just turned around and she was gone-"

"Oh, no, no that's- it's fine," Tim says, a warm smile on his face. "She's good at. Disappearing. I'm surprised that she didn't cause more issues," he chuckles, "she's good at slipping out of sight, and hiding. Sometimes I have to call Kon for her." 

"Huh," She says. "Sounds like some good beginner Robin skills." Babs rolls her eyes at her comment but Tim. 

Tim pauses. 

"I don't know if she should." He's being careful with his words, not looking at either of them. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea." 

She and Babs share a look. 

"Is it because she's a girl?" If it's the whole "Spoiler" bullshit, but the remix, she's going to do the guy a favor and punch him in the balls. 

Oh, one of them should definitely teach the kid to punch a person in the balls. She makes a note to remind herself to not forget, because, duh, medical student-slash-vigilante here. She’s the perfect person to show how to do some testicular torture.

"What, no." He whirls to her, wrinkling his nose. At one time she thought it was cute, made him look like a baby rabbit and made her feel all melty inside. It's still cute, but it makes her feel more fond than melty. "It's an age thing rather than a gender issue. Since she's only eight, and it's really hitting hard how B let _a ten year old_ fight crime." 

Oh. _That._

They all tend to forget (ignore) how young they all started. Nearly all of them could admit that they needed it, needed to follow the Bat, the Mission, needed the help that only being a Bat could provide. 

"Though," he says this absently, as if he's not aware he's even speaking. "With parents like she had, she already has an advantage already building those skill sets." 

That. That did not sound good. 

"Tim," and it's Babs, eyes level on the man. "What happened to her parents?" He freezes, face closed off before sighing. "I really don't want to talk about this right now." He says, and he turns and-

Stops. Looks over Steph's shoulder. 

Cass and Jenna had finally come downstairs and Jenna's standing there not in the Robin dress, but in a party dress, with off the shoulder sleeves and with embroidered organza on top of the full skirt. The satiny fabric is a red reminiscent of Red Robin's red, which had caught the girl's eye in the first place. There's a black fabric belt that breaks up the red, but the kicker is in the details. 

The embroidered organza has tiny scales in gold beading all around the skirt, the black belt matching with little flames in gold and red dancing along the black satin. It even has a little gold brooch shaped like a scaled egg that rests at her collarbone. 

Cass did something to her hair, since now it looks more like a pixie cut, with a headband that matches the dress and little gold hair twists and she looks _precious._ Also kind of like a baby dragon with the scales and gold. 

And yes, Tim is Red Robin, but he's also Tim _Drake._ And while sometimes he does quack, he does have tendencies to not blink and hiss and hoard items. And c'mon, Steph likes a good play on words almost as much as Beast Boy. They _had_ to get the dress. 

Tim makes a noise, his eyes wide and open and looking like he's seeing someone very special. Fond and happy. And something settles in her chest at the look, because she remembers that look, remembers seeing it on her mom when she was sober, when she would pick her mom up from work. It’s the look she sees other parents give to their kids, something deep and wonderful. 

Looking at the look, Steph knows the kid is here to stay. 

Jenna shifts, nervous, green eyes blinking at both of them. "Do you like it?" She asks shyly. 

"Do you?" He asks, gentle, and Tim grins at her exuberant nod. "I really like this one," she says. "This makes me feel special." 

"Well, you are a special little girl," he replies, giving her and Cass a look. "Also, we're doing this Fashion Show Properly. Cass, Steph, I need you to go and grab my softboxes from my office…Jenna, wait with Babs while I get my camera." 

"We're doing pictures?" Jenna blinks. "Is- is that permissible?" 

"If you don't want to, we don't have to." Seriously, seeing gentle Tim is surreal. "But I would be happy if I could get some photos that I can show to my friends, and our family. I bet they would want to see pictures of you in your dresses as well." And yeah, neither of them miss the fact that Tim said "our family." 

"Why?" She looks up at Tim. Tim smiles down at her. "You're important to me, to us," he says. "I want to be able to have a physical piece of this memory for me to remember, no matter what." 

Steph blinks, she refuses to get misty at that ridiculously sappy statement, she's Batgirl, she has _standards,_ and she hurries off to fetch the items

Tim ends up taking at least ten photos per dress, and even snaps a couple of them in their thrifted outfits as well. It feels odd to be in a living room on a weekday doing an impromptu photo shoot and Tim’s still in his CEO suit, also there's a kid, but it's also fun. Normal. Tim is taking it super seriously but also not and even Cass is hamming it up for once by acting overly dramatic and it's causing all of them to break out into giggles. 

It feels innocent. 

She’s going to grow up to be a stunner, Steph knows, as she watches the girl twirl and laugh, spinning in a circle just because she can. Steph is going to watch her grow and grow from a girl forcing herself to hide for safety and survival into a beautiful woman standing tall and confident. Seasons will change and things will be different, but for the first time in a while-

Steph is _ready._

* * *

They had talked a bit more, Tim explaining things as the Fashion Show continued. Steph hated being right as Tim explained Jenna’s parents, and yeah, even though Tim is Tim, leaving that girl alone with those... _people,_ would of been the wrong thing. God, she _hates_ them and hasn’t even met them. She can’t blame him for pulling a Bruce, and even says so. 

“Yes well,” he fiddled with his camera lens. “It’s not like I caught her stealing my tires.”

“No, you just kidnapped her off a balcony, like Howl Pendragon,” Steph says. 

“He never kidnapped anyone,” Tim argues, but it’s not like he actually read the book, so he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, and Steph says so. 

“Pretty,” Cass says, twirling around with Jenna as they both enjoyed the swishy nature of dresses, Babs just quietly watching, a small smile playing on her face.

Tim had promised he would be there for patrol, as Kate was coming over to watch her. He’d asked if they wanted to stay for dinner- just leftovers, he apologized, a simple chicken marsala, with wild rice on the side. They stared at him. 

“You cooked?” She had squawked. 

“Is it edible?” Cass asked dubiously. 

"Kate?" Babs had looked at Tim. _"Kate Kane?"_

"She's helping me with the fostering system," Tim had shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. "And Jenna has taken a shine to her." 

Who wouldn't, Steph privately thought. Kate Kane was such a badass. If she knew that she could hang out with Kate Kane, especially when she was a Robin, maybe things would've been different. 

But Kate has always been a little reluctant to spend time with Robins and Batgirls, which probably had to do with the fact that most of them started out as minors, minors who willingly follow her cousin into dangerous situations. 

And as much as the idea of Tim actually cooking, or maybe chatting with Kate Kane outside of patrol was tempting, they really did need to get ready for said patrol. Babs had some leads she needed to check on. Cass wanted to finish painting her nails. And she wanted to get at least one more page of that monster essay she’d been working on earlier. Tim smiled and mentioned a ‘next time,’ as Jenna and him had said their goodbyes as they traipsed down the front door. As the door closed, she caught the image of Tim’s hand on Jenna’s shoulder as she leaned on him, an easy smile on his face as Jenna started asking about his day. 

Steph sighs, feeling the wind breeze past. Gotham had been getting decent weather recently, which was nice. Sure, it did have to do with that magic-user that botched up a curse a couple months back, same one that botched up Tim's initial attempt of telling them, but decent weather should be _enjoyed,_ damnit. Even if it was because of magical mayhem. 

"So, this means we're definitely going to be the baddest, best aunts ever, right?" She turned to look at her two compatriots.

"Oh no question."

"Yes." 

"Cool. Cause I already put like, several trackers in her backpacks. And her shoes-"

"Already downloading her routine- it can’t be healthy letting her stay inside and take online courses.” Babs is rolling her eyes, but Steph is sure that Tim is probably doing the right thing, since you know, Babs may have fond memories of the Gotham school system, but Stephanie sure doesn’t. She’s also sure that Babs is updating the Birds of Prey on Tim's new kid as well. 

"I will follow her." 

"You're changing your patrol?" Steph looks at the woman, her head straight as she follows the traffic of Gotham. Tim's house isn't anywhere near Cass' patrol area. Cass still looks determined. "Yes." 

Babs cocks her head. "You really like her, huh Cass?"

"She is good." And it's said so fiercely, that both Babs and Steph stop, looking at Cass. "She is good, and she." Cass makes a clicking noise, frustrated. 

"Yeah," Steph gets it, what Tim was trying to say. Already she could tell that the weather was going to be changing; she knows this city, her home. She knows it as she knows her scars, her stretch marks, her hair, her eyes. She's young, they all are, but they all had to grow up fast. Leave behind childhood fast.

Steph looks up at the Gotham's skyline, reaching up, clawing at the sky. "Let's make sure she stays a little girl, a bit longer." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why Stephanie is so hard for me to capture, but I honestly tried.


	4. Interlude: Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is unexpected. 
> 
> (Kate was the first, you know.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo boy, So This Interlude. *clenches teeth* 
> 
> TW: Implied Physical Child Abuse, Implied Manipulation, Dehumanization of a Child, Misgendering, Emotional Manipulation, Referenced Emotional/Physical Neglect, Uh, Q*eer used as a reference to self, not as a slur, mentions of Kate Kane's alcoholism, and Just, Lenore (OC) is just Bad Person. Everything isn't explicit or _extreme,_ because as a trans person myself, it made me Not Happy, but if Jenna's parents were Good people, then she wouldn't exactly be with Tim, wouldn't she? I did put asterisks around the meat of the issues so you can skip it if you want to.

She's small. That's Kate's first thought, when she sees the girl, she's small. It comes unbidden into her mind, just that thought, she's small. Baby bird would be an apt nickname in this regard, especially as she's currently hiding behind Tim. 

"You actually acquired a child." She looks up at Tim. "Please don't follow in my cousin's footsteps. Children aren't collectibles." 

He gives a rather ungainly snort. "Trust me, I will not. Jenna's...special." And that smile he gives to the child, well. 

Kate is hesitantly supportive. Around 60%. 

She wasn't sure what Tim wanted- outside of cases, missions, they didn't really interact. She spends more time helping out the other vigilantes than with the "main Bats." Though most of the time she spends alone. 

She's fine with it. 

As such, when Tim asked to meet her, she agreed, curious and a bit wary. And when she did arrive in civies, like he asked, she wasn't sure what would happen. What to expect. 

Tim, watching a child, still caught her off guard. 

"Hello." It was the only thing she could think to say, kneeling down to her level. The girl doesn't blink, just keeps staring at her rather hard. She's dressed in a pair of jeans with faded sparkly stars on the legs, a red tee with the Wonder Woman’s logo, opposite of Tim’s black Superman shirt and faded, stained jeans that he prefers when working casually in his Perch. Hand-me-downs, Kate realizes as she stares at the girl. And she wonders where Tim found this child. 

One time, she had thought about children, more of fantasies than anything. Having a wife and a child to love together. But then she took up the cowl and met Robin and Robin and Robin and-

No. She refuses to bring children into this mission, refuses to be like her cousin and let herself be swayed by their choices. 

Tim nudges the child softly, letting those wide green eyes- eyes that seem to try and bore into her soul, they were familiar- flick away, look up at the young man. “Kate Kane is a relative of mine,” he says, and it’s gentle, a surprising change from the almost robotic, monotone voice she’s heard him speak. The child nods, before giving her a small smile. She hopes the smile she gives back to the child isn't terrifying. “I need to discuss some things with her.”

The child nods. “I understand.” She starts to walk off, hesitates, but disappears before Tim could fully turn around.

Strange. 

She follows Tim inside the townhouse, the new safehouse with the "extended basement" and extensive security around the perimeter. She hasn't been inside this one, not yet, but she can see why Tim has been favoring it. It's nice. He leads her to the living room, where there's a rather inviting couch, and some equally nice armchairs, with a coffee table, and a rug underneath. On the left, through a wide arch she can see the kitchen, files and paper scattered on a kitchen island. It's completely different then his usual safehouses, where everything is minimalist and the necessaries are the only thing housing the spaces. Kate has a feeling that this is a recent development. 

"I'm fostering her." The first words out of his mouth as soon as she sat down, a cup of her favorite tea, perfectly steaming in front of her. She had to give it to Tim- he may tend to veer into overstepping boundaries at times, but he also knew how to brew a damn good cuppa, knowing exactly how any of them took it. Or perhaps it was more due to spending most of his formative years with Alfred instead of Bruce. 

She nods. "I would assume so?" After all, Tim wasn't Bruce, didn't just randomly acquire-

"Sort of." 

Pause. 

"Sort of?" Sort of wasn't good. Sort of reminded Kate of when Bruce was a child, before, before all of this, before when he was just the slightly weird cousin with the fear of bats. Sort of bleeding. Sort of broke a vase. Sort of got juice all over the fancy rug in the parlor and didn't tell Alfred right away. She learned so many new curse words that day from the scowling British man, Bruce looking nothing but stubborn, not even contrite. 

It was strange to think how their relationship changed, all due to one awful night. 

"So I am fostering her, but it's less legal than even the laws of Gotham will allow." Tim lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He needs a haircut, she thinks absently. The ends were split. "I may have... suggested coming with me, and she said yes, and perhaps her parents were in a different country when this happened." 

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it once more. "You kidnapped a child." She stares at him, flat and unamused. 

"I prefer to think of it as "pulling a Bruce" he responds quickly, calmly. She opens her mouth again. Closes it again. "Who else knows about her?" 

Tim shrugs. "You're the first Bat that's aware." She feels her support drop down to 55%. 

"You kidnapped a child," she repeats, because that's what she said to Bruce when she found out about Jason. She wasn't involved with Dick really, wasn't involved at all with the Robins and Batgirls becoming Robins and Batgirls, but she's positive that Alfred had some choice words for her cousin when Dick showed up. He certainly did with Bruce about Jason. And Cass. Duke probably as well. 

Thinking about it, it's worrying that her solemn cousin does seem to acquire children at random. 

"Sure, I kidnapped a child that was left alone in an empty penthouse with barely any food, and hadn't seen their parents in over a month," he shrugs, eyes unamused as well. Something itches in the back of her mind. 

"Where did you get her?" She asks, because there's something in the child's face, especially the eyes and mouth. Something familiar. 

"Star City, but she was born in Gotham; both of her parents had places in Gotham and Star City, due to their business."

It clicks. 

"Lenore and Warren Rothbauer." Tim doesn't flinch from her gaze, blue eyes grabbing hers. "She's the child of Lenore and Warren Rothbauer." 

"Oh, good, you know who they are," Tim says with a grimace, which, anyone who actually _knows_ Lenore, would say. 

Her support raises to 79%. 

"What the fuck," because that's all you can say if he managed to get the child out from _Lenore's_ claws. "Is...is the girl alright?" And she frowns because last time she thought, Lenore had a _son,_ not a daughter- 

She looks at him, eyes wide and blinking. 

"She calls herself Jenna," he says, and it's no surprise he knows. "She likes Rapunzel, fungi, singing, and mystery novels over fantasy. She likes barrettes in her hair, shiny ones over glittery ones, and she can wear whatever she wants, she never had that freedom before. She corrects anyone who tries to call her a boy, call her anything other than Jenna. She's bright, stubborn, sweet, and she already has scars, Kate. On her _scalp._ " Tim has his fists clasped in front of his mouth, the knuckles white. "Five small scars, perfectly matching up-"

"Lenore favors either coffin or stiletto acrylics," she replies. "Pretty long ones as well." 

Tim pauses, gives a shuddering sigh. "That clears up that mystery," he murmurs, leaning a bit forward and for a moment, it's almost like-

God, that was the exact pose her mother used to do, when she was young and slipped out at night, to see her parents murmuring about their jobs. The memory comes up suddenly, almost violently, her mother on the couch, a cup of coffee next to her knee as she and Dad would discuss cases here and there, suggest ideas, solutions to each other. It’s the same furrow in the brow, it’s the same look of concern, especially when they would talk about their worries about her and Bette-

Something twists in her chest, cold and sharp, and Kate takes a moment to breathe. 

Her support raises to 88%. 

She exhales, long and slow. 

“What do you need from me?”

Tim worries his lip. “I understand if you don’t want to help. It’s...well, it’s a mundane issue, really.” Mundane. Which means not a _Bat_ issue. 

That's...new. 

"Bruce is off-world, and...well,” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. “I understand the legality system, and I really hate to do this, but...” he doesn’t finish, merely looks down, pensive, as he continues to chew his lip. "I need some help with the fostering- the legal side, that is. Her parents are saying that I'm not suitable for her." Something flashes over his face, and it's startling before it settles into mere irritation. She isn't surprised. Lenore hates having anyone removed from her grasp, even if she doesn't want them any more. 

Yes, Tim understood the legal system; he understood it as well as any Bat, if not better; in doing so, he understood when he, Timothy Drake-Wayne, young CEO, would be an advantage and where he could be not. Because he’s still a twenty-something young man. Twenty-something young men don’t think about parenthood or children. Society says that they shouldn't, and even though Tim was born and bred for the elite, can walk and work the rooms, he is only an _adopted_ Wayne. 

Kate is a Kane. She’s part of the elite, even if she tried to ignore it, turned her back to it. She’s aware of the in and outs of Gotham, of the legal system, just as good as Bruce is, if not better; after all, Bruce isn’t a woman, isn’t a _lesbian,_ and didn’t spent his years with high ranking military parents and then in a military academy. He didn’t go off with the idea to drink and screw as many women as he could after his tragedy. 

She knows the law; knows it like the ache in her spine, the surety of her hands. She knows how to use it, twist it, pull out-dated regulations and laws from everywhere, to use the law for her own machinations, because she may be a woman, a queer woman, a broken woman, but she will not be a _submissive_ woman.

She nods once. "Let me help." And smiles when he gives her one with relief at the edges. She feels triumphant, determined. 

She’s goddamn Katherine Rebecca Kane. She’s _Batwoman._

* * *

They're waiting in front of the private courtroom- just the two of them, her and the girl- when Kate sees her again, after all these years. 

She has to give it to Lenore: she was still beautiful. 

Golden hair wrapped up in a sweeping bun. Green eyes highlighted by dark lashes (mascara, but Lenore never needed false eyelashes.) She’s picturesquely thin yet curvy, probably had a surrogate for the child to maintain that figure, or maybe just surgery, she had the money to get it back if she did have the child. Her face has high cheekbones, fantastic jawline, and lips naturally plump and heart-shaped. She’s the epitome of elite breeding. 

She’s also, one of the most manipulative and cruel bitches Kate had the displeasure of knowing. 

Kate remembers the parties. Of closed doors and polished desks. She remembers a heart-shaped mouth curling into a smile, green eyes glimmering with want in the dim light.

She also remembers the way that same mouth would destroy relationships, people, businesses, if slighted even a bit. Or even if the mouth was just bored. If the mouth wanted _entertainment._

Oh, Kate watched as that mouth charmed and bewitched anyone that came into her web, spinning lies so sweet and sounding so sincere that even the most jaded of minds and hearts fell for that belladonna mouth and gorgeous emerald eyes. 

Warren is handsome, unsurprisingly. He has that light brown hair just like Aunt Martha had, cut into something befitting of his class. Blue eyes that were very striking, and probably meant that he was as cruel as Lenore, even if he held onto his wife's side like a lifeline. She's not surprised. He married into status, and Lenore always loved having pretty toys as much as she loved keeping her toys on a nice and tight leash. 

It's why she never went after the Wayne name. She found Bruce too willful, too awkward. And thankfully Alfred somehow saw through her and made sure to keep her very, _very_ far away from Bruce. 

Jenna is silent next to Kate. She's dressed quite smart in a little boy blazer and shorts. Her hair has been slicked back and her face is a mask of mild-mannered blankness. 

Kate can easily see how miserable she is. 

It was obvious already, from the child she met before and the child next to her right now. When they finally stopped discussing the situation, apparently Impulse had arrived, took the girl out to somewhere else. When they returned, before she left, both Impulse and the girl had been covered in mud and leaves sticking in odd places, beaming brightly as she showed Tim her new acquisitions: some samples of fungi and a couple of _Hirudo medicinalis,_ happily attached to her arms. 

Kate really hoped that she wouldn't figure out how to get into the sewers if she was _that_ excited about leeches. 

But that child with the bright smile and the relaxed shoulders is barely the same child now standing very still and perfectly blank. She's practically a statue. 

"Kate," Lenore greets her warmly, and for a moment Kate could believe that the warmth was genuine. Until those eyes flicked down and the warmth cooled, mouth flattening into something hard.

*

"Oh," she says. "You brought _that thing_ with you as well." She turns her head to Warren. "Make sure it doesn't try and touch me, dear." 

Kate is going to shoot her. 

She is going to shoot her. She's going to punch that pretty face and smash those teeth, destroy that pretty mouth, destroy soft lips, destroy that _toxic waste of a human being-_

A glance down at Jenna and she still has her mask on, a mask that probably is used and well worn, given that it didn't look like Jenna even tried to react to the statements. 

Kate keeps her mouth shut. 

"I didn't realize you know Drake," Lenore continues. "How unfortunate about the Kane lineage. Your father is _such_ an influential man." She smiles, lips upturning in what appeared to be a sincere smile, waiting. 

Kate keeps her mouth shut. 

"Warren," Lenore sighs, "I'm going inside. My feet are hurting." She gives a tinkling little laugh. "I'm expecting, by the way. I'm five weeks along." She places a perfectly manicured hand over her middle, eyes deceptively soft. The pink stilettos glint from the fluorescents, showcasing the tiny pearls in the center of each of them. "Finally, Warren and I are having a _real_ baby." 

Kate could hear the hitch of breath from Jenna, the first crack, but the lawyers are arriving, and it's too late for words. 

* * *

It was hell. 

Lenore's lawyer knew how to spin. _Having_ Lenore along just made his job easier- she knew how to tilt her head at the right moment, letting a strand fall as if to hide her ashamed face. When to bite her lip, when to sigh, dabbing at her glistening eyes. Warren turned out to be a magnificent puppet of Lenore, able to morph his face into a sad puppy expression, eyes soft as he spoke how much he loved his son. 

*

Kate wanted to punch them all in their perfect teeth. 

She was there as a proxy, the idea that she is currently letting Jenna live with her as a third party, as Tim and the Rothbauers ready for battle, ready to fight. The first part is getting the judge to let Jenna live with her, at least on paper. She may live with Tim, but at least for Gotham Family Court, the child was going to live with a woman, a _Kane._ She has the money and the status, along with the perfectly curated “influence” to help if it came down to that. Surprisingly, their own lawyer had seen the poison-mouth of Lenore in action, eager to bring down some justice on the Rothbauers, if this goes as planned. 

And with Tim, with Red Robin, then that plan _will_ happen. 

But it was hell. It was hell and Kate saw Jenna slowly grow more and more miserable and unable to really do anything about it as she valiantly kept her face neutral, kept it pleasantly bland. The judge ruled in her favor, thank god, the acts of negligence too great to ignore, with the promise of actual court meetings, more background checks on Tim, more hoops to go through. They won the battle, but the war was far from over. 

The lawyer and her set up another meeting, the man promising to put his all in the case, wanting to make the Rothbauers lose, at least once. Mercifully, the discussion was short, and Kate wanted to _leave_ , wanting to remove herself from that awful woman and her manipulations, practically carrying Jenna out of the court house and into the car. 

Jenna just curls up into a ball in the passenger seat; she had shoved a fist into her mouth, silencing herself as sobs shook her tiny frame. Kate hesitates, watching her hands grip the wheel, watching her hands tense and relax against the leather. She wants a drink. She wants six drinks. She wants to forget green eyes that smiled and say pretty words with pretty lips and pretty hands curling around her own, the feel of nails on her hips. But there was a person in need in her car, and that child needed her to be stronger.

"I'm proud of you," and Jenna just curled up harder. "You did very well. You were such a good girl," and Kate watches as one of her hands went to pat the slicked back hair, the sensation of messing up the slick hair settling something inside her chest. She waits, methodically un-crunching Jenna's hair as the girl settles, eventually calming and uncurling. 

"You have callused hands." And Kate stops, drawing back a bit. Green eyes met hers. "I don't mind. They're very nice hands. They feel safe." 

_These hands hurt people,_ she thinks. _These hands have punched and fought and caused pain._

Kate just kept patting her head until teary eyes glanced up at her again. "Please, may we see Mr. Dad?" It was said softly, pleading. Kate couldn't help but agree, finally turning on the engine to leave.

* * *

Tim looks relieved when they arrive, heading over to wrap an arm around the child as they enter the door. Kate watches as Jenna willingly let him wrap an arm around her, leaning into his embrace. There was a relaxed tilt to her shoulders, a sense of relief on her face. She stares up at Tim with a look that all of Bruce’s Robins have, the same look Kate still gives to her father in quiet moments. Kate watches as Tim and her start to converse, heading up the stairs. 

“Will you stay for dinner?” 

Twin looks of hopeful curiosity, blue and green, with matching tilts of their heads, stare at her. 

“I wouldn’t mind going over some cases with you,” Tim says, a cautious look on his face. 

“Is it true that you can detect electro-magnetic fields?” Jenna asks, eyes bright with curiosity, the shadows that had lingered on the drive back disappearing from her face. 

Kate blinks. _She had work to complete back home,_ a quiet voice hissed, low, in the back of her mind. She had dishes to clean, files to organize, and maybe she should re-check her equipment again.

"What's for dinner?" 

"Take out, most likely," Tim says as Jenna bounds off, probably to change into something that didn't make her miserable. "We're both kind of done with leftovers, at this moment." 

She feels her eyebrows raise up at that statement. "You're cooking now?" Tim had always seemed content to survive on a mix between caffeine, sugar, and whatever meal that came his way. He wasn't one for cooking, that was for sure. Tim merely shrugs as he starts scrolling on his phone. "Nutrition is important for children to help establish a foundation for healthy eating habits and knowledge that a child can apply throughout life. And it- why are you looking at me like that?" 

"...Nothing, Nothing- what were you thinking about?" 

He starts rattling off the various restaurants, going into more detail about the ones that Jenna had enjoyed as they wander and settle into the dining area. Eventually the little girl joins them again, leaning against Tim's side as she peers at his phone, dressed in a Robin tee and worn jeans, faded embroidered flowers on the legs. There was a headband in her damp hair. Tim says nothing, only shifting so that she could look closer at his phone, not saying a word about her chin that was obviously digging into his elbow. He keeps talking, asking for Jenna's input ever so often. 

Kate had checked her equipment in the morning, the files could be done the next day if it came down to it, and there was a reason why she had a dishwasher. 

She sat back against her chair, content to watch Tim and Jenna debate about Indian vs Italian. In the end, she ends the tie by saying Mediterranean was better, also Falafel

Falafel, they agree. 

And as she sat the dining table, a plate of pita-filled Falafel in front of her, listening to Tim ask about advice for a case, and her answering the many questions of Jenna, Kate thought-

She's supportive of this. 100%. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I tried my best with Kate, and I need to read more up on her, because she's a goddamn masterpiece. 
> 
> Is Lenore kind of flat? Maybe. Did I take elements of my own family history and put it into Lenore? 
> 
> ...Maybe. 
> 
> Also, this was in my head as the idea of when Jenna came home with two arms filled with Leeches: 
> 
> Jenna: *excitedly talking about the leeches she found and what her nature books said about them*  
> Tim: *Smiling while obviously screaming inside*  
> 


	5. The Titans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three of them would like to say, Tim has always been good at keeping his cards to his chest. 
> 
> (When The Core found out.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there's an end chapter!
> 
> So fun fact: I'm already in the process of editing/re-reading the next major chapter, and trying to complete the final chapter, since it's deciding to go in three different directions and I need to choose _one._
> 
> Also thank you all for the lovely comments. It warms my heart that people are digging Jenna, and the characterization. 
> 
> TW: Implied Neglect, Mentions of Cult, Brainwashing (Brother Blood)

Kon didn’t know. He had no way of knowing. Neither did Cassie or Bart. It was Tim, master of secrets and Bat-Bullshit and they just didn’t _know._

Sure, it was a surprise to have another universe’s superhero teen team randomly appear at the Titan’s tower. In the middle of movie night. But a pleasant one, because they were just as surprised and nice about it and really, all they wanted was to figure out how to get home. They _apologized_ for wrecking movie night. 

It was nice that unlike the “End-of-the-World” missions, or “Deep-Trouble” missions, or missions that could cause the collapse of the space-time continuum, this was just...a mishap. It took less than a day for all of them to create a portal that would take them home. And honestly? It even took that much time simply because the entire team was utterly amazed at the Tower, and don’t give him that look, Cassie, having another Super say how much she looks up to you is awesome, ok? (And Cassie preened when they also fawned over her, so she didn't have a leg to stand on.)

The mission, (or really, the trip to the Watchtower to grab the right artefact,) was also derailed at the fact that apparently three out of the five were clones, one was an alien, and the last one was legally adopted by Tim. Other Reality Tim. And yeah, Other Tim wasn’t a vigilante, not anymore, but ran his own multi-billion business and pretty much invented the _cool_ future, like flying cars and tech that helped both civilians _and_ capes, and everyone thought he was like, the best? Like they were still known as the Core Four, still close, still friends, and people looked up to them and just. 

It was nice to hear. To not fight, for once. To know that there were Universes that weren't just terrible, terrible places to be in. And Kon could talk to the other clones about clone-things (The whole "people think you're the DNA and not a full person" bullshit that was apparently multiversal,) and Cassie wanted to know more about how the Justice League was run in a different Universe (And listen to them gush about her, don't give him that look, Cassie, you know it's true.) Bart wanted to know about the future in general (and how much of it was different from his own history,) and Tim. 

Tim just kept. Getting these looks. Like he was amazed about how much they gushed over him, like he was _important._ He was amazed when they told him small facts about the universe, about how he's respected and wanted, and Tim and the team leader (his _daughter_ , holy shit) spent a good time off to the side, quietly chatting. (“I have sisters. Father's Day gets a little crazy each year, we tend to go a little overboard since he means the world to us, to everyone, we love him-") and Kon just-

He saw the look Tim got in his eye, and it made him want to hold Tim tighter, keep him closer. He watched how Tim interacted with them, with her, and his _teeth_ ached. Cassie said that was a metaphor but she still held his hand tight when they saw Tim lit up around the other team. 

Eventually they finally went and got the right artefact, and they had to leave, and it...was harder than expected. Kon remembered that the team leader (she called herself Delta- codenames, you know,) a girl with long light brown hair (who wore a mask just like a _Bat)_ hugged Tim tightly, whispering something in his ear. 

Kon thought it was just. Platitudes. Something about how much of a great father Tim was or like how much they loved him no matter what universe or something, you know, mushy and dramatic and sappy and _sweet._ It seemed private, so he didn’t listen (yes, _Tim_ , he could tune it out, but sometimes there were dumbasses that tended to _almost die if people with super hearing didn’t listen for a heartbeat_ ) and just looked away. 

Apparently, it wasn’t just mushy stuff, but rather information about there was another _Delta in this universe and where to find her._ And Tim was holding the tiny child in his arms while staring at all three of them in his doorway in Gotham because they had wanted to see _where the fuck Tim disappeared to all these weeks ago._

Apparently to find a tiny child. 

None of them knew about any of this beforehand, but as they saw Tim hug the too-quiet, too-thin child, blue eyes clear and defiant, they weren't surprised in the least. 

* * *

She called herself Jenna, and she was firm in that she's a girl, even with the cropped hair. She had a resume, carefully printed, asking if she could be the assistant to "Mr. Red Robin aka Mr. Timothy J. Drake-Wayne." She could clean and use the stove and didn't lisp or misspoke words. She had "Lessons" but the concept of "school" confused her. She knew how to hide. How to be silent. How to escape. 

None of them needed an answer after that. 

Tim had clutched at her harder. 

She is...thin. Tiny. She's not...bad thin. But. Not good, all the same. Clothes hung off her tiny frame, clothes that they knew shouldn't be drooping. She follows Tim nearly everywhere, sticking close to his knees and gazing at them with wary eyes. She doesn't really...play. She just watches, and stares. 

They wait until she heads to the bathroom to look at Tim. 

"Tim." Cassie starts first, always the leader, the driving force. 

"It was unexpected," the words spill out, almost spewing forth. "I- Delta- She mentioned how she almost died once, before she met me, and she knew she had a counterpart here but all she wanted was to just check up on her, and she felt bad that she couldn't," he keeps looking to where the child had been sitting. "I- all the request was to make sure she wasn't _dead,_ and I- wanted to see her. I was. Curious," Tim takes a shuddering breath, releasing it slowly. "She _wanted_ to leave with me, she had been left alone in a penthouse for _weeks,_ " he says, voice quiet. "She was so alone and she gave me a resume and started listing why I should take her on as my assistant." 

They all know the story. Why Tim became Robin, _how_ Tim became Robin. The early days, where he had trudged back to empty rooms and halls that would stay silent for days on end. They all know that Tim had pretty much dug in his feet and made Batman pick a Robin, choose him. That he didn't care because it meant he was helping his hero. 

They don't say anything about the child and why- the thin body is enough proof that Tim did the right thing, even if it was crazy and kind of stupid. 

Cassie hums, but says nothing more, watching as the child enters the room again, sitting back down in the same place. 

"I've been researching," Tim murmurs, watching her listlessly shuffle the toys bought for her, moving them into strange patterns for a moment. "About teaching her…she needs it." His back was straight, eyes sharp as they all watch her rearrange toy to toy, giving them all quick glances ever so often, as if to say "is this it? Is this correct?" 

They all make noises of agreement. She is thin, moving around them as if unsure of people, let alone _them_. She speaks so formally, it's creepy. But she clings so tightly to Tim, and already there's love and adoration in her eyes when Tim is around. Tim was the one who found her. Let her follow him. Let her stay. They keep watching Tim, watching her, watching them. They feel it in their bones, in their blood. 

A warm hand is placed over his, and he looks into serious blue eyes. "We're here," Kon says, and Cassie and Bart nod. "We're here." 

They will help. They will help teach something that was stolen from all of them, if only to not let the same fate fall onto her. 

* * *

When asked about what she likes, Jenna will respond with "I can be useful."

When asked again (not "can" honey, "like", what do you enjoy,) Jenna will give them a hesitant look. "Safety." 

So they figure it out. 

Each of them take their time with her, in showing her that it is safe. She gives that word a lot of meaning- they learn that to her, "safe" is a word that she holds with two clutching hands, that once she considers anyone or anything "safe," she will trust, love, devote her time and self over to "safe." And in doing so, all of them learn aspects of her. 

Bart learns that she actually doesn’t like staying still, a wanderer in her own way. She likes climbing and crawling and being silent and fast. She likes finding nooks and crannies of places, the tiny closed off spaces, the empty roofs reaching up to the sky. She likes finding fungi, slime molds, seeing the decay of life bring about birth. She loves the abandoned places, the ruins of old civilizations, where she climbs over rocks and vines and peers through leaf-dappled sunlight. Where she delves into dark caves and finds tiny rocks in the dim light, or the dark forests admiring her beloved fungi. She adores being held in Bart's arms or on his back, where the landscapes are open and vast, where there's nothing for miles as one can run and run _and run_. Through Bart she learns about exploring, cataloguing details. She loves the winding, strange streets of Gotham, and they spend several days together exploring Gotham, renaming all the gargoyles. They collect rocks and shells and bits of paper and flowers and shiny pieces of glass that she'll place on her shelves, the windowsills, her bulletin board. They pet all the friendly animals and taste all the non-poisonous fruits. People- _people_ overwhelm her, but slowly, she's getting out of her shell. Bart can't wait until she can visit big cities with him, picturing her flying through the air, running on tops of buildings, laughing, smiling. 

Cassie shows her the classic kid movies with her, teaches her how to punch a man in the knees and hold a taser (because, Gotham.) Jenna starts a list about how everyone she knows has a certain Disney Princess and why, enchanted by their dresses and warm smiles (like Cassie was, once, at that age, and it warms her heart to see,) with Rapunzel being her favorite. When there is conflict her first reaction is to hide, to escape, but slowly, she learns to stand her ground. Cassie teaches her building blocks, of standing ground, of saying no, for the girl already knows that the world is cold and harsh, but through her, she teaches the girl that there is comfort and warmth as well, of the power of femininity. Cassie shows her how to do her hair and why you wear tights or pants underneath dresses and the beginnings of make-up. They spend a day with a tiny play make-up case, spreading eyeshadow and lipstick over their faces (and Bart’s and Kon’s and Tim’s, because they’re all good sports underneath Jenna’s pout and Cassie’s glare) decorating cheeks with stickers, and her laugh is infectious. Cassie knows that some things she will never show to the tiny lady, that her path is rockier and harder than Cassie's, but by the _Goddesses_ , she will stand true by the child's side. Cassie can't wait to see her stand tall and strong, to see men realize that they cannot break her down. 

Kon...does what he does. Outside of her school lessons, she likes reading- so they read together. She's fond of adventure series with girl protagonists, or clever protagonists, of mysteries novels she can figure out who's the killer, of nonfiction books of various flora and fauna of the world, handbooks she can use when out with Bart. He flies her to Ma's place and together, they learn how to make breakfast bread and cookies and cherry pie, the latticework crust dusted with sugar. They learn that she likes music, will start humming broken bars of music when completely comfortable, and Kon spends his time with her in music. She likes showtunes, and Mary Poppins is by far her favorite to sing, after Rapunzel, but also enjoys everything and anything, even the country pop that Kon puts on to piss off Tim. She likes to sing, her voice bright and cheery, and sometimes Kon can imagine her being a robin on the first day of spring. He sings along with her, smiling when she belts out her favorite tunes, letting her voice ring out through the room. He smiles when he hears her hum or sing softly to herself, unconsciously. They watch her bloom, watch her become animated, alive, a complete contrast from the listless child she was before. Kon cares for this tiny human, and hopes, in his heart, that she doesn’t ever grow out of loving “A Spoonful of Sugar” (he hopes he never has to hear her voice go silent.)

Tim researches child psychology and what’s healthy for a child, starting from the ground up, especially with a child that has to tell the world she is a girl. He works with Kate with fostering and the mess that is _That Woman and Her Husband._ He reorganizes his schedule, takes some time off, less willing to pile on his plate, so that he can spend time and learn about who Jenna is. They wander through Gotham, climb every single building, Tim showing her the best ways to shimmy up the fire escapes. They take pictures together, of Gotham, of other places and he plasters a large chunk of corkboard on a wall in her bedroom, just so she can pin up her favorite photos, her favorite memories. He sits and watches her New Favorite Movies- sits through the Princesses, watches the musicals, and debates with her about favorite Disney princesses (She loves Rapunzel, he's always been fond of Ariel.) He shows her Star Trek and she’s getting invested in that as well- she's fond of Sulu, and leans against his arm as they watch. There’s always someone else in the house when he goes out (he can’t stop watching Gotham, he won't stop being Red Robin, but he can’t leave her alone,) and every night when he returns, he checks on her, before heading to bed. 

He learns that she loves having him cradle her face in his hands, likes to shove her head into his neck to hear the vibrations of him speaking, hates anyone touching her scalp (hates nails on her scalp,) and she’ll eat anything that he cooks for her, no matter how terrible, all because he _made it for her_. He learns all of her various interests, from singing to exploring to being right to organization and everything in between. He learns of her fear of doctors, of cold hands with sharp nails, and not knowing time (because for the longest time, she lived in a world where the only constant was waiting for cold hands with sharp nails, lessons and silence,) and works best when there’s a schedule. Is relaxed when there’s a schedule. There's evidence that children need a schedule to grow (he does not think about empty halls and passing time.) 

So he makes a schedule. He sets up routines and plans and contingencies, and she takes to them like a duck (a Drake) to water. They make breakfast together and he learns how to actually cook, and let's her help with organizing his WE paperwork. He researches babysitters and tutors (because school is still off the table, she’s too skittish of others that she didn’t haven't classified as _Safe,_ ) and makes daily schedules and weekly schedules and there’s always at least one clock in each room. He gets her slowly acclimated to new people, safe people. He sets up a system where she is never without someone _Safe,_ when he’s at work, when he’s on patrol, and he always returns home. He texts her periodically throughout the day and lets her know immediately about any schedule changes (else she'll stick close to his side, or worse, _hide._ ) He comes home. He holds her and protects her, and yes, starts to slowly teach her other things- practical things. For she is a child of a Bat, of a Bird, of Gotham- and she is part of the Drake lineage, now. And if there’s one thing that has become ingrained in his skin, in his soul, is survival. He will make sure that she survives, and she knows she is _loved_. 

And for the most part, everything works out on schedule. On a schedule. 

It changes when they’re called for a mission. 

It’s back in San Francisco. Church of Blood had gotten underfoot again. And- the Titans needed a Robin. The Core Four needed _their_ Robin. They needed a compass, a guidance. They weren’t complete without him, they needed him, wanted him, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bring Jenna (he couldn’t leave her alone in the Tower, that would be too much, too soon,) for in Gotham, she knows routes and contingencies (a Bat, a Bird, of Gotham,) and she is slowly becoming part of Gotham. To remove her from her home, her safety net- no. He gets Steph, and her day time sitter to watch her while he’s gone, gets Cass to cover his patrol (gets Cass to also look after her.) With a whispered promise of a video-chat, and one last hug, he’s back in San Francisco. 

It was...fighting with the Church takes a toll out of them, emotionally, spiritually. Fighting cultists is one of their least favorite people to fight, because they _believe_. They believe in his words, his promises, and they will fight for him until they keel over. Or worse, they’re trapped in their bodies, mind-controlled, and unable to stop, to pull away, can only just fight them. It doesn’t matter if they believe, he has the power to control them, to _own_ them. 

Needless to say, they’re exhausted when they get back to the Tower. Even Bart is dragging his feet. 

Tim makes a beeline for the Ops Computer, not even out of costume. Kon wanders behind him, leaning against the side as Tim starts typing. They watch as a screen pops up, green eyes blinking sleepily at him, already in bed. 

Jenna waves a hand as the other holds her tablet. “Hi Mr. Dad.”

Tim smiles helplessly, removing his mask as he does so. "Hi Jenna." Kon knows he misses her. His head was in the mission, never wavering, but he misses her. He will let her go, let her run, if it meant saving her life, but. But. 

She yawns. "You ok, Mr. Dad?" She's blinking slowly, fighting back sleep, but there's a crease in her eyebrows that pretty much says she'll try and fight to stay awake. 

"I'm fine, honey. Tired." Which was a complete understatement, but at least she didn't seem too upset at the bruises on Tim's face (it wasn't right, for her to normalize this, but they were _capes._ ) A blonde woman's head pops off the side of the video.

"Heya Timbo." She's careful about nicknames around Jenna. The girl is still learning, naive that "boyfriend" is a playful jab, rather than a title. 

"Hey Steph." Tim gave her the same tired smile. "Everything ok?" 

"Yup.” Steph rattles off about their day, the child just staring at the screen, staring at Tim. 

“You called me.” Tim sucks in a breath, Jenna looking quietly amazed. “You _promised_ , and you called me.” Only the hum of the computers, of the electronics, is here. 

“Of course I did, Jennabird,” Tim murmurs, eyes soft, filled with some sort of emotion that Kon can't name, not really. Something soft and sharp and deep and all-encompassing, something that's a little more vicious than just regular love, but stronger, too. “I care for you, and I wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” she says, before nodding her head. “Um, Mr. Dad?”

“Yes?” Immediate. Alert.

“Can you sing me a song, please?" The admission is quiet. “I want to listen to you. Please.” Not her playlist- the one that helps her most nights to go to sleep. Kon can hear the unsteady rhythm of Tim’s breath, his heart. Cassie sees the way his shoulders stiffen. Bart sees the minute movements of his face, flashing before settling back to his usual mask.

"Of course," Tim says, voice a little thick, before he clears his throat. "Which one?"

"The Bird one," Jenna yawns, little face creasing. "Please," she adds absently, and her head settles against the pillows. 

Tim smiles at her, his voice soft, humming the beginnings of the song. _“Early each day, to the steps of St. Paul, the little old bird woman comes…”_

Tim’s voice isn’t perfect. It’s a little off-key, and hoarse, especially from the battle, and maybe that’s what makes Kon start to sing-along as well, keeping his voice low. And then Cassie. And then Bart. 

All of them crowd behind Tim, singing to her, watching as her eyes start to droop, for her eyes to finally fall shut, her breath evening out, singing until the song ends and Steph deftly takes the tablet from her slack fingers, giving them a quick smile before shutting off the feed. 

They hear Red Robin take a shaky breath. “I’m going to go shower.” He jerks up from the chair, rushing out of the ops room. 

They know he’s going to take a quick shower and break protocol to use a zeta-tube back to Gotham. They know that he’s not going to rest until he’s back home with Jenna, and maybe they should be more concerned, that he isn't thinking of the Mission, of plans, of reports and debriefing, but…

Won’t Jenna be surprised to see all of them when she wakes up tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was short. 
> 
> This was actually the first chapter I managed to complete, and yes I could of gone longer, but it just felt, right? A lot of how I work is that I write down when I have the inspiration, sleep on it, and then spend my days editing and re-writing to get everything to mesh. And after I wrote this- it felt just, solid. Some re-writes here and there, but every time I tried to add in sections, it just read- messy, clunky. So those got deleted, or pulled aside to be something else one day. 
> 
> Also- yes, Tim sings "Feed the Birds" from Mary Poppins, cause that's what my dad used to sing- but I also was thinking of using "Home" sung by Adriana Figueroa because it makes me misty, but. I couldn't help myself- "Feed the Birds" fits better, I feel. 
> 
> And one may argue the multiverse angle is a bit contrived, and I would like to point out _Dark Nights Death Metal._ So. 
> 
> Thank you again all for the lovely comments.


	6. Interlude: Tim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact: This wasn't the intended Interlude and maybe it's a bit more, eh, rushed. 
> 
> Anyways, here's some soft times.

Don't panic. 

Don’t. Panic. 

Jenna wasn't in bed. 

It was just after patrol, and he had just poked his head into the guest room- well, Jenna's room, now- and she wasn't in bed. She was always in bed after patrol- he would come in, check on her, and then either work or pass out until morning, rinse and repeat. 

Tim took a breath. And another. 

Focus. The sensors didn't go off, so she was still in the house. A quick check on his wrist comp showed that nothing got triggered down in the Perch, so she hadn't gone there. A check on the surrounding bathrooms and other rooms showed no sign of her as well. She's _gone._

Don’t panic. 

Focus. Think. 

No alarms, no signs of forced entry, but he checked the rooms and he couldn’t find her. 

_Think._

Kon. 

Kon was still here- he had been sitting for her and _he was still here._

Tim races down where Kon had been napping on the couch- the Netflix page asking if he was still watching, casting a dull glow on the surrounding areas. 

He’s already up, probably because Tim could hear his own pulse in his ears, blue eyes meeting Tim's. "What's wrong?" Alert, ready. There’s something of a relief to see Kon ready, something that lowers the cold seeping into his throat. 

"She's gone." He chokes out, cold dread curling around his throat, choking him, chilling him. Why was there so little air? "She's not in her room, she's-"

Kon's eyes goes disant, unfocused, before sharpening and flying off, Tim following because Kon hears here, she’s still alive and okay and Tim didn’t- 

They both skid to Tim's room, but he already _checked_ here, he already- 

Kon crouches beside the bed. "Jenna-bird," he says, already using Bart's nickname for her. "Jenna-bird, hon, are you here?" 

Some shuffling. "Kon?" 

Tim crouched down, looking under. 

Green eyes blinked tiredly at them, her face a mixture of confusion and sleep, surrounded by a swath of black. She had burrowed into a corner, covering herself with his capes, masking herself into the shadows underneath. 

Tim feels his heart drop with relief, ignoring how Kon gives him a wild look, probably hearing how wild his heartbeat is, as Tim smiles weakly at her. "Why aren't you in bed?" He's trying to be soft, to not sound worried, but he was worried, damnit. 

Some of the fear must leak through because she curls in tighter. "I- I had a bad dream and I woke up and there were gunshots and screams and-"

Tim glances over to Kon, who's giving him a sheepish look. Kon still has a preference for action and horror films, the cheesy ones with the dumb special effects and outrageous acting. He also still has a tendency to forget that just because regular old humans didn’t have super hearing, didn’t mean that they weren’t _deaf._ Looks like Jenna confused the audio for reality and went into flight mode. 

"-And the cape smells like you and that means it's safe," she finish, and _oh._

Tim's tired. It wasn't a bad patrol but it was _long,_ and he really wanted to sleep and not have to worry about a child sleeping under his bed, so one couldn't fault him when he blurts out-

"Do you want to sleep with me tonight, Jenna?" 

His brain freezes. Never, and he means never, did he sleep in his parents bed. Well, with them in it- there were a couple of times he remembers when he was little, when he would crawl into their bed during nasty thunderstorms, books and TV saying that it could help, but the bed was always too cold and empty and he stopped that pretty quickly- he ended up bundling his blankets around him, playing music on his computer to drown out the storm. But maybe she would like that? Do eight year olds sleep with parents for nightmares? Was that normal or creepy? He can't remember. Shit. 

She looks confused and alarmed. "Is that allowed?" 

Well, he wasn't sure, his mind admits. But again, he was tired and wanted to go to bed, but now he was concerned that she would grow more alarmed and deny it and next time he'll probably find her in the cupboards or something and scare him half into a heart attack. She was kind of like Cass in that regard. 

"Part of the benefit package," his mouth supplies, his new go-to phrase- she pretty much rolled with anything as long as that phrase was said, and sure, Kon was definitely giving him a crazy look, but her face isn't alarmed and instead more warily hopeful. 

She gazes at both of them for several long moments. "Okay," she says, and starts crawling out. 

* * *

He changes in his bathroom, quickly, efficiently, easily changing into a pair of sweat shorts, an old tee of someone's- the logo is faded and worn, and huge on him, so maybe it was Kon's but it could of easily been Steph's or Gar's or anyones- most of them prefer huge comfy shirts to sleep or chill in. It's why Gar and Bart call them "The Bi-sasters." 

Tim doesn't get their humor, sometimes.

Kon had already gone back to the couch, saying his goodbyes as he had to fly early tomorrow- even child-sitting didn’t excuse his chores- so it was just him and her at the moment. She's cross-legged on the bed when he exited, still draped in his cape, eyes tracking his movements

He doesn’t know what to do. 

Does. Does he say something? Does he _do_ something? Fiction let him know that usually the child will ask to get in bed with the parents, usually after a nightmare or a storm or something, but nothing said anything about when the parents said the child could sleep in the bed because it was a better alternative to sleeping _under_ the bed. She's looking at him, come on brain, think. Say something.

"You ready troopers?" 

Not _that._

She luckily says nothing, though the concerned look is saying that she's starting to regret this. 

Tim climbs into bed, arranging himself the way he sleeps best, giving her a half smile, but then looking away. Sometimes she responds best with no gazes on her, and that _means_ something, though fuck if Tim could make sense of it at this moment. All he cares about is making her comfortable and not try to crawl back under. 

"You can relax, you know." He looks over to where she’s still sitting, eyes tracking everything. 

Carefully, carefully, she crawls over to him, arranging so that she’s curled up by his side, barely even touching his skin. He gives her a pat on the arm, and smiles at her again, but she says nothing, just continues to look at him. He bites back a sigh and closes his eyes, listening to her gather the cape around her, to the outside traffic of Gotham.

Slowly, slowly, they drift to sleep.

* * *

Warm. 

There was a warm presence by his stomach, warmer than the blankets and pillows. 

He cracks an eye open. 

Jenna is sitting on the bed, eye boring into him. 

"I made breakfast," she says, "It's coffee and yogurt." 

He blinks, sleep refusing to go away. It was a problem of his; he may have trouble sleeping, even with his medications, but once he was down, he was _down._

Muzzily, he reaches up and pats her on the head. "Goo'd G'rl," he slurs, continuing to pat her head as he slowly starts to drift again. 

She's stiff under his hand, and that's not right, he frowns. If she's stiff, the bed will be sad- how and why an inanimate object would have emotions escapes him, but the main problem is that she's stiff and he can fix that. 

She squawks when he wraps his arms around her, bringing her close to him. 

"What-"

"We got ten more min'tes," he murmurs. "Shhh. Sleep time." They did. His alarm didn't go off yet. In ten minutes he would have to get up and be Timothy Wayne, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Red Robin, but in this moment, all he had to be is Mr. Dad, a title he’s realizing that he doesn’t hate or resent. And Mr. Dad wants cuddles from his little bird. 

She's stiff in his arms, but slowly, she's relaxing, cuddling up close to his chest, warm and soft, as her breathing evens out, becoming soft little snores. 

Perfect, he faintly thinks, and then he lets slumber take him away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I really need to finalize that last chapter.  
> My Muse: I hear you, but also...  
> My Muse: Tim and Jenna cuddling  
> Me:  
> Me: The final-  
> My Muse: Already wrote it. Boom. Done. See you tomorrow! *finger guns on his way out*  
> Me: Shit.  
> Me: Wait, I have to put it between the Titans chapter else it won't make sense!  
> My Muse: Not my problem!  
> Me: Damnit! *starts furiously re-writing and editing*  
> \--------  
> Thank you all for the kudos and lovely comments. I appreciate every single one of you.


	7. Alfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't just leave her out in the rain, now could he? 
> 
> (When Alfred met Miss Jenna.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> I may have to add a chapter, which is why it's now at 11. 
> 
> Anyway, here's Alfred. Because if it's not obvious right now, Alfred is alive and well and City of Bane never happened because Fuck That Noise.

He finds her by the side of the road. 

He almost missed her. It was grocery day, returning from the supermarket and various other errands. And yes, he's quite aware that he could easily order the groceries, and he did for the staples, but most companies didn't put the care and keeping into picking out the better fruits, making sure the vegetables weren't too ripe, and meats just had to be done in person, not done _online._

It was raining- his joints ache as he drove back to the Manor, the familiar streets an impressionistic blur. Rainy days made him think of England, of deary gray days that drizzled and made everything damp and chilly. He will admit, choosing Gotham, especially as it was now, could be hard to understand from the more simpler man's perspective, but it really wasn't Gotham he had chosen. It was a family that loved, and a young ward (a son, a voice whispered) that still needed him, even after all these years. 

Bloody hell, he's gotten sentimental in his age. He shook his head slightly, shaking away the melancholy as he was about to turn on his familiar street when he passed by a figure, not even blinking at the sight before he brakes, still on the road, and turning his head. It couldn’t have been. 

It was. 

A little girl is marching determinedly by the side of the road, a large backpack almost overwhelming her frame. She has on a pink coat that had seen better days, pants, and yellow rain boots. She’s also completely drenched and had the look of _I Am Aware But I Am Ignoring It,_ like one of his own countrymen would have on during a dreary day such as this. 

He watches as she marches right on by, not even glancing in his direction. 

He watches as she suddenly loses her footing, and face-planted onto the ground, got up, wobbling, and lost her balance again into a ditch, arms and legs akimbo, struggling against her backpack. 

Well. That wouldn’t do. 

* * *

“Thank you sir,” she sniffles miserably as he ushers her into the kitchen. It was only him in the house at this time, Master Duke off in Los Angeles with the Outsiders, and Master Bruce with his eldest and youngest currently off-planet on another mission. As such, he didn’t feel the need to call them to let them know about the young person he’d helped out of the ditch. Lord knows that all of them would start talking about spies and aliens and “the girl isn’t safe, Alfred, you don’t know where she’s been.” It’s almost as if they all forget who actually raised them- and yes, he was referring to _all_ of them. Master Bruce may say he raised some of them, but Master Bruce still needed help getting out of bed in the morning, so who was the true parent, hm? 

"You're very welcome Miss Jenna," he says, placing the large rucksack in a stool next to hers, letting herself settle in the stool next to the backpack. She had previously confidently stated that she had researched the "proper protocols" for packing a rucksack and it was the ground that caused her to lose her balance and that she was "currently in the process of isolating due to having a compromised immune system." She appreciated the help up, and the band aid for her chin, but due to her comprised nature, she must be on her way. 

He asked where she was walking from. 

Gotham, she replied, before turning around and violently sneezing. 

She was immediately bundled up into the car. The child, bless her, did not fight too hard on that, the rain and her cold slowly draining her stubbornness as she slumped against the window with relief when he raised the heat up a bit, brown hair dripping onto the leather. She had stayed silent for the trip, only sniffing and aborted coughs from her as he parked the car near the kitchen's entrance, clear indicators that the little Miss is currently battling a rather nasty cold, on top of taking a hike in the rain.

He tries to tell her not to worry, but the girl was insistent on at least bringing in one bag of groceries, wobbling unsteadily. He replied that it was his job, and please come inside Miss? 

Jenna, she said. My name is Jenna. 

Fair Phantom. How interesting. 

She does take the part. After making a quick cuppa, she seems content to settle back and sip at the hot tea, a towel wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. As he finishes putting away things in the pantry, cupboards, filling the fridge with stone fruits that were Master Damian's favorite, the tomatoes that Master Richard likes to eat while whenever he flits in, Master's Bruce favorite kosher breakfast sausage that can only be found at a small butcher’s shop on the edge of Chinatown, but that Master Bruce enjoys immensely, especially after long, off-world missions, and Master Duke’s favorite secret fruit snacks that happened to be on sale, which the boy tends to prefer when stressed, he's taken aback several times from the girl quietly sitting in the stool, or by the odd snuffle or sip here and there. She barely has any presence, unlike the other patrons that have lived in this Manor, current or otherwise. 

No, that's not true. He corrects in his mind. There have been two children. Both stuck close to the shadows, and unlike Master Bruce, used silence to disappear, rather than intimidate. 

Master Bruce has always been like that. As a child he had been headstrong, imaginative, and the tragedy only made that stubbornness grow stronger. Master Bruce had always had a streak of independence, always wanting to be considered "adult" and "old enough" to do anything, wanting to appear strong, untethered by "relationships." He always thought Master Damian had shared that trait with his father, the need for independence, even at the struggle of one's self. It was the others though, who had grown into the ideal of independence, grew too fast and too quick. He thinks of the sacrifice of a healer, the scars on a dancer's body, the resignation of a performer, the anger of a scholar, the desperation of a poet, the grief of children, and- 

A sick boy left alone in a cave, with an unshakeable faith. 

Alfred rubs his eyes. The rain makes him sentimental, he thinks wryly. Age and Rain become props for which the actors Nostalgia and Melancholy take to the stage, hand in hand. 

...He should really get started on getting the girl some food. Poor thing probably needs it, and does not need for him to stand and woolgather. 

Luckily, he had been feeling chilly these past days, so it wasn't hard to simply re-heat the chicken soup from last night. She smiles grateful as he places the bowl in front of her. He nods, heading to his own bowl, because he may be British, and still spry, he’s still not the young man he once was, and he’s been feeling the ache of time in his bones- especially since it was bloody awful outside. He was only out there for a moment, and he can only imagine how she must be feeling. 

Alfred is impressed by her dedication, admittedly horrified that her parents allowed her to walk out, in Gotham, with such minimal supervision. 

A memory of another child, happily admitting his own parents rarely come home, with the odd postcard or phone call, flashing in his mind, and not for the first time, Alfred wishes he could have his family back under the roof once more. It tended to get too silent, the shadows appearing to lengthen in the silence. 

It was light once, in the Manor. Martha used to love to play piano, or sing, voice trilling up into the high corners. Thomas would join in, his tone-deaf baritone melding together, becoming a fond, if off-key melody. Master Bruce would often grimace at that, rolling his eyes at their antics, as children are wont to do at that age. But every so often, he would join in, all three of them surrounding the piano, and for a moment, the large Manor was filled with voices. 

When the Manor went silent, so did the light. And Master Bruce became a person of shadows, choosing silence over song. 

They both eat quietly, a few questions here and there about how she came to this road, about the meal, with him whisking away the bowls at the end before she could start rising up and saying she could help. He refreshes her tea and is given a grateful smile and a "thank you." 

“So, Miss Jenna, are you from Gotham?” he asks, remembering other little children with running mouths and lack of subtlety. When meeting Master Dick for the first time, Alfred learned his favorite food, his favorite trick, how he missed his parents, how much he hated Tony Zucco. Master Jason took a while, but he would try and shock him by talking about all the violence and sex he had seen- and was impressed when it didn't even cause a reaction. 

Of course, not, Alfred chuckles privately to himself. Lord knows he got into trouble during his days as a youth in London. He's curious though- will she be more like the first? Or more like the second? Perhaps more like one of the girls? Or maybe- maybe like the third. 

He waits, and listens. 

“Oh, no. I’m from Star City on an apprenticeship,” she says this brightly and proudly, albeit stuffily.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

“I see.” He does not. What does that mean? It had to mean some sort of slang or lingo, not- there wouldn’t be a business giving apprenticeships to children. What would that even entail? Alfred has an image of little children dutifully passing out coffee and carrying stacks of paper in an office, and while that does seem mildly humorous, the actual reality of that sounds horrible. Children deserve to be outside in the sun, and safe inside in the cold and rain. Children aren’t used as tools for offices, they’re supposed to be enjoying their youth and learning about hard work through patience and chores. 

He coughs, very politely. "And this...apprenticeship…" If it was really _that._

She nods, looking very serious. "I'm Mr. Dad's apprentice. So I'm learning all sorts of things, like first aid, and how to break into a safe and how to tell the difference in bloodstains and _more._ Sometimes I help him with paperwork or help with cooking. It's fun," she grins, sniffing a bit. "And if I behave and be good, I get rewards like clothes or food treats, like ice cream." 

Alfred is horrified. For some reason the thought of some villain taking a child and using them for his nefarious purposes, like some, well, _apprentice,_ never crossed his mind, Good Lord. She is definitely not returning to this fellow, he thinks. Not when he's teaching her safe-cracking and differentiating _bloodstains._

Good heavens, even Master Bruce waited till his boys were at least double digits before teaching them any of that. She couldn’t have been older than _nine._

"Well, that's nice of him," he finally replies, and tries to surge forth at her agreeing hum. 

"Is there...anyone I could call, to pick you up? It is rather dreary out there." He tries to be gentle. He hopes there is. Leslie has unfortunately retired and moved down to a coast town by the Gulf, citing that after Gotham, not even _Florida_ could shock her. He has half a mind to go and call Miss Barbara or Master Tim or even Master Jason, but Master Jason was still out of Gotham, roaming, and Master Tim and the others out on some sort of "missing child case" that popped up. 

"No, I don't want anyone else getting sick," she says this simply, with the same confidence, the surety of those statements, that he thinks back to another child, sober and alone. He wills the memories away. "Won't your...Mr. Dad miss you?" He would absolutely put up a bloody _fight_ before this Mr. Dad fellow gets this innocent victim back, but she has to have _someone._ He makes a note to have Miss Barbara, or maybe Master Bruce or Master Tim look into this fellow; to be frank, he doesn't trust anyone that makes a child his apprentice, and calls himself _Mr. Dad._ Especially in Gotham.

"I'm not leaving for good," she says rather crossly. "I'm in quarantine. I just need to stay away for a month, and then I can return." She starts opening her rucksack. "I have enough supplies and I have my _Urban Camping Guide in Gotham_ , by G.E.Ford." And inside is- well, what one would expect inside a camping rucksack. 

Good Lord, he thinks, she really is preparing to sleep on the streets, or the fields of Bristol. He gives her a bewildered look at the sick child. "Miss Jenna, why are you going into quarantine?" He's not sure what answer he's expecting, to be frank, but it certainly wasn't the quiet admission of:

"He doesn't have a spleen." 

He looks at her. She's staring off at a distant point, eyes hazy but very focused. She sniffles once more before continuing. "He doesn't have a spleen, and that's a major organ in the immunity system. So he can get sicker easier. And things like colds can become bronchitis and then pneumonia and then he'll _die._ " She gasps out the last part, and it's no longer a cold that's causing her to sniffle, he knows that exact look, has seen it on the many faces of this Manor's wards. "And people die from pneumonia. Even in current times." 

Alfred stares at the little girl. Gotham is a large city, a city of coincidences, one may argue, but he raised Batman, and almost all of the Robins. He was a bloody spy, once. He is a detective, in his own right. 

"So I needed to leave, at least for a while, because I don't want him to die because of me," she wraps the towel tighter around her shoulders. "I don't want…" she looks up, and oh, her eyes are like pieces of depression glass, green and wavy, with unshed tears. "Mr. Dad's the best thing that's ever happened to me," she whispers. 

"Why is that, my dear?" 

She looks down at her knees again.

"He says I'm a person, and that I'm not a tool. The Parents always said," She picks at the edge of the towel. "That children are good networking tools. That's why I was allowed to go out. Networking."

Children, he thinks, are human beings. And certain phrases and words are making his chest grow cold, such as her inability to look up at him. But he keeps silent, merely pouring her another cup of tea, which she takes carefully into her hands. 

"I would go to the functions," she starts again. "Most benefactors, the _important_ ones, like children, like Mr. Wayne, and the Parents knew that. Those weren't fun," she admits, wrinkling her nose and no, he suppose not, for a tiny child. Especially for one who knew they were being used. "I…"

She looks at him, searching, and he's getting the mild sensation that she's trying to read his soul. It's quite a stare, rivaling Miss Cassandra's and Master Bruce's. 

"You're not just a butler," She starts slowly, and he has no idea how she could figure that out. But if Mr. Dad is who he thinks she is, then he will be just, and frank. 

"Yes."

"So you're aware of things. You know things."

"Yes."

"...Are you transphobic?" And that makes him blink, move his head back. But she flinches, hunching in and- 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Alfred has been part of the theatre community- has been a spy, a soldier once. He's met homosexuals, and transgender individuals and every variety of people out there. He knew of one such person who came out to their wife, still happily married to said wife. And if there's one thing he's learning about Miss Jenna, is that she's very much like a certain young boy who dragged a grieving Batman back from the shadows. Not once she has asked for her father, or made any attempts to go home, and while she was obviously devastated, she had also sounded as if she thought this was the best course of action. It's a very specific inflection, one that he's been hearing for years. 

And she did manage to get from Gotham go Bristol only using intelligence, will, and a strong understanding of the bus routes.

"I am not," he says, gently as possible, gently to make sure she isn't spooked. She stares at him, and he is all too reminding of another wary child, unsure and ready to defend, to protect themselves. A child who loved chips.

"...Jenna is my real name," she speaks as if confessing. "I found it myself, but they used to call me a different name. And I had to pretend. When I was at the galas. I had to pretend to be _him,_ because that's what they needed. They didn't need _me,_ they needed me to lie so they could network." She's tracing the rim of the cup. "And I don't really like lying. But I had to ‘cause." She stops, blinking, before shaking her head. "So I guess there's another reason why I don't like the galas. But there was one I did like and it was here, in Gotham. It was at the new opening for the art museum? And I said hi and yes and all the right things and it was a _good_ night, a productive night, so I was permitted to wander. I found the rooftop- I'm good at finding things. I also put that on my resume," she adds. "I can keep a secret. But this isn't a secret, they wear masks, and I saw the most special one," she smiles.

And, he knows what she's going to say, he knows, he's heard it before with another child-

"I _saw_ Red Robin." It's a whisper, it's the wonder in the whisper, in her eyes, her voice filled with awe. He's not expecting her words, but still he feels his eyes widen and sees her sit up a bit straighter. 

"There were the others, like Batgirl, but Red Robin was there and he didn't see me cause I was hiding, but they were doing some acrobatics and _Red Robin was there_." There's stars in her eyes. "He was there and laughing with Batgirl and the others and," she wasn't looking at him, at anyone now, her eyes were glazed, reliving the memory. "They were happy." 

"I always liked him best. He has a cape that can fly, he's smart and thoughtful, and not as scary as Batman and Red Hood."

"...There's other vigilantes, such Nightwing or Robin as well," Alfred adds, and she just shakes her head, as she goes on a pretty little rant about how Red Robin Is The Best And Always The Best. He is trying to follow her thought process, if only to figure out how she got here, to Gotham, in the first place, marveling more at the facts and details she's presenting, citing battles and fights that he had forgotten. She's enamoured with Red Robin, and he can't help but be charmed with that- rarely anyone notices Red Robin in Gotham, if simply that Master Tim prefers a more subdued costume when he's back home. It's rare for him to hear anyone sing Red Robin's praises, and this little one is singing them quite beautifully, even with the sniffles and coughs. 

"And all of them are different," she wrinkles her nose. "I...He does things, you know? Both as a vigilante and as a person. He works with companies and helps a lot of people, both as Red Robin and not."

He doesn't blink, doesn't change his face. 

"You know their identities." 

"It's not hard," she says, shrugging. "Most of them wear just one of those play masks, and if you figure out one, you can figure them all out." She sounds very pleased with herself. "Especially the Arrows. The Arrows are _easy._ " 

He understands now, when Master Jason had come in one evening two weeks ago before patrol- a pleasant rarity- looking a bit owl-eyed, and when asked all he had said was "little girls are dangerous beings." 

This child. 

"I can keep a secret," she straightens. "I've been keeping secrets since I was a _baby."_ She looks defiantly at him, a familiar jut of her jaw.

"I'm grateful you can keep a secret, Miss Jenna," he responds. "For all those people are my family as well." 

And she freezes, looking around the room wildly. "This-this is the Manor?" She looks back at him, eyes wide with dismay and horror. "You're Alfred. You're _the_ Alfred." 

"Indeed," and he can't help but frown. Her mind went somewhere, and he's trying to follow her path. A little proud that apparently he's well renowned to be considered _the_ Alfred. "Miss Jenna, may I-"

"He'll come here," she's almost in tears. "And get sick because I'm here and I'm an idiot." She's wrapping her hands tighter around the towel, her voice taking an edge of panic. "I'm an idiot and selfish and _wrong_ and-"

"Sick." He places a hand over a fist, letting eyes meet his. "A sick child needs rest, Miss Jenna." And he's half expecting for her to say "I'm not sick" or "I'm not a child" as the others in the house had said, had repeated through the years before. “I’m not injured Alfred,” to “I can go out and patrol with broken ribs, Alfred,” and the all time favorite, “I’m Batman/Robin/Etc.” He doesn’t care if you’re bloody Superman, broken ribs need time to heal. 

But what she actually says makes him sick in his _heart._

"I know I'm sick," she admits so freely. "And a child. But Replaceables are supposed to be able to handle themselves. It's for preparation for the real world." She points at herself. "Like me. I turned out wrong, so I have to get used to the real world faster, as I can't be parasites to society. I can't expect everything handed to me. I'm _bad."_

Alfred wants to shoot someone.

It's a rare, passing sensation, the anger of his youth, but here it is, hot and red and curling around the edges of his vision. It's pulsating in his ears, his throat, choking him, deafening him. It's how Master Jason and him get along so well. He understands the heat, the anger, the frustration of having to follow orders and not just punch the bastard until they _stay down._

For someone had spoken to a child like this. Someone had made a child feel disposable, and wrong, and unloveable. Someone said this so often that it had stopped hurting, and became a _fact_ for this child.

He wants to know how she ended up here. He needs to know. 

"What about Red Robin?" He tries, hesitantly, and she smiles again, speaks up louder, brighter. 

"So I saw Red Robin, and I'm sure he didn't see me, and two weeks later, he came to Star City to fight an invasion and I saw him _again,_ and then two months _later,_ he was on my Balcony. And he knew my name." Her face was filled with reverence. "He knew my _real_ name. And I gave him my resume, and while it wasn't the position I was expecting, it's somehow even better." She sniffs. "As long as I can stay away for a month, I can keep my position." 

Something is missing, the jump between her spying and the balcony, the resume, everything, but he has no doubt that Master Timothy will be explaining everything to him. _Explicitly._

Especially since he hopes that Master Timothy didn't completely go bonkers and give a child a _job_ over a family. Alfred permitted it _once_ and never again. Those two may have forgotten, but he didn't forget how bad it felt to watch a child slip into a dark manor, bruised and alone, every night. To come back to his first child, bruised and alone, staring into a fire as if it held all the secrets of the Universe. 

Honestly, Master Tim and Master Bruce were sometimes too similar. At least the youngest wouldn't do anything too bizarre, like kidnap a child, as Master Bruce once did. Though he will be having a _talk_ about what is appropriate for a child to learn- safe-cracking, _really._

She's wavering now, the warmth of the soup and tea finally hitting her. He gently takes the cup from her hands. "Would you like to lay down?" He keeps his voice gentle, and still she startles. "I can't," a line appears on her forehead. "I appreciate the offer but I can't. The germs-"

"Nonsense. I can easily strip a bed afterwards, and here at the Manor we have strict decontamination methods." He's being gentle, being kind, and she seems to instinctively be aware of it, for she doesn't resist. He guides her to the guest hall with her rucksack, to the one bed that's usually always prepared, just in case. 

"Do you need anything else?" He asks, bringing her to the doorway, passing back the bag; she has proven herself self-sufficient enough that he's sure she would be insulted to even _imply_ her inability to get herself ready for bed, even with a particularly nasty cold. Sure enough, she shakes her head and Alfred makes sure to leave a glass of water for her just in case. "Very well. There is a phone on the nightstand, dial one and that will connect you to the interior landline, and I will be able to help if you shall need anything. Good night, Miss Jenna," he bows to her, and she nods her head, curtseying. "Thank you, Mr. Alfred." 

He walks back to the kitchen, already planning on giving Master Tim the stern talking-to about letting family members know when one acquires a _child._

She is going to be a most welcome addition though; she has _manners._

* * *

He comes in record time. 

Alfred is mildly impressed. Master Tim was usually punctual, but he did have a tendency to get sidetracked, to lose focus into his many projects. Unlike the others, he was always interested in technology, in projects and programs and success rates, not really people. 

However, looking at the panting, terrified man, Alfred amends some ideas in his head. 

"Where is she?" He gasps, and he was immediately in front of him, Alfred had never seen him so worried. "Is she alright? She's not hurt, is she? Where-"

"Before I tell you," he begins, low and soothing, and nearly startles when the flash of something sharp and dark passes through the man's face. He pauses, blinking, as the boy clears his throat, his face morphing into mild regret. He continues on. "Her main concern, as she confessed, is that she's aware of your missing spleen. It appears she went into self-quarantine for you." He watches and the other man's shoulders slump, and he's not relieved to hear those words, but some of the urgency has been removed. 

"Alfred, I- please," Master Tim rubs at his eyes, the same two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and back out again, just like Master Bruce. "I understand you're confused, but I've been searching for her since the sensors registered that she left, and I couldn't find her via the trackers. So." And with that, he's gone. 

Alfred follows behind. This boy has always been smart for his age, and so he keeps quiet as the man speed-walks down the halls- he silently appreciates the fact that even though there's urgency in his steps, obviously he wants to run, he still respects the Manor. And Master Tim was always considered the 'Best' detective, after his original ward. 

He watches as the boy loses a bit of the tension in his spine when he opens the door, seeing the young girl sleeping fitfully. He's by the bedside in three strides, carefully sitting on the bed as he keeps his eyes on her, looking at her as something wondrous and terrifying and holding half of his heart already. 

He looks, exactly as Master Bruce did when Master Richard came. When Master Jason came. When Master Damian came. 

How Thomas used to look at Master Bruce. 

"Jenna," his voice is soft as he touches her cheek, gently caressing it. There's a faint smile, a helpless smile, when she stirs, eyes slowly opening. 

"You're not supposed to be here," she's sniffling, her voice a high whine, but he before could intervene, the boy is already making shushing noises, still tracing her cheek. 

"I take antibiotics, Jenna," he says, low and warm and unlike anything Alfred has heard the boy, no, _young man,_ sound like before. "And not only that, but there's protocols and medicine and even _magic_ before anything serious happens to me." She's silent, her mind processing the information. 

"Promise?" And the young man is smiling, nudging her so he can curl his body around hers, already bringing her close to him. She doesn't argue, almost eager to be right beside him. "I promise." 

"...Is this part of the apprenticeship?" Tim huffs, and Alfred watches as the clever, serious man wraps his arms around the stubborn, serious girl, his grip loose, but still protective. The third boy was always that- protective of his friends, his loved ones, his precious items. Master Jason and him were alike in that regard; both cared for people very fiercely, and with their entire being. 

"Call it part of the benefit package," Tim says, the faint smile still on his face. "Get some sleep, Jennabird." 

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Dad," and she's out like a light. 

Silently, they watch the girl, curled up against his thin frame, before Tim turns his eyes to his. 

"She thanks me," his voice is low, hoarse. "Because she's grateful that I come back, that I _stay._ I-" Those eyes are watering up, and Alfred’s heading over, curling his arms around those shoulders as he once did many years ago, when the face was less clogged with pain, when the young man was only a boy, such a tiny boy. "She gave me a resume and wanted to work for me, either in or out of the cape- she knew who I- and even when I said no she kept trying to convince me-" the young man's voice is choked, hushed. "I didn't expect this, I didn't want this but-" 

Alfred clears his throat, stepping back, keeping his hand on the young man’s shoulder, a shoulder already used to bearing so much. "I seem to remember," he starts out, "Another young child also finding another caped man, and telling him that they're choosing to stay. Convincing him to take them on." He remembers the stubborn jut of the jaw, the crease in the brows as a boy stood up to a man, a hero, and told him he needed help. A boy who wanted to help his hero, his unshakable faith in doing _good._

Master Tim looks up at him, and Alfred still sees that boy.

"I know fostering her isn't-wise," And it's as if this is set years back, with another lost, hurting young man, cradling another lost, hurting child. When the Manor was quiet more often than not. "But- she needs me. She wants to be next to me." And pale hands patting the brown hair on the pillow. "She chose me." 

He should say something. Children aren’t easy. Children take time and patience and most of all, love. Selfless love, burning love, love that even when they do completely stupid or horrific things, you still love them because they are _your_ child. 

Alfred has spent his years here, in the Manor, merely because he understands that love as Martha and Thomas did, once. 

But as he watches the third one (the lonely one, the quiet one) he says nothing, only giving the other a slight smile as he closes the door behind him. 

He doesn't need to say anything at all. It's obvious that Tim is choosing her as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I've read that big mansions have interior landlines or something that like, you can phone the kitchen or the servant quarters, but I'm also not sure if I just dreamed it? So, in this universe, that's a thing because if you can have flying superheroes, then the Manor has a special, private landline specific for the kitchen because that place is huge. It's probably not called interior landlines but still. 
> 
> I'm not. Too happy with this? Some areas could definitely be re-written better, but every time I kept staring at it, I would just keep drawing a blank. I really tried my best with Alfred, y'all. Unfortunately, I am not an ex-spy elderly British Butler, but just a random transdude from the South. But Alfred is really the best. 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos. Y'all are amazing.


	8. Interlude: Duke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, as the saying goes, "When in Rome."
> 
> (When Duke met the reason why Tim Lost His Cool.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, y'all. 
> 
> Alright, so just a heads up: so I'm still trying to tack down the dang final chap, because I have a plot line in my head, but just, _writing_ it...
> 
> TW: None?

Duke knew he was getting into crazy when he allowed Bruce to somewhat basically adopt him, but. 

He stares at the little girl currently staring at him, as Tim starts to head down to the Cave. 

"Huh." This wasn't the weirdest thing ever, and yet it was at the same time. 

Tim pulled a Bruce. Weird. 

Apparently this kid was the reason there was that big "Missing Child Alert" he got during class last week. She caught a cold and was scared of passing it to Tim and his compromised immune system, so she thought she could just quarantine herself in the wilderness until the cold passed. Which was sweet. Absolutely crazy, but sweet. 

Duke had never seen Tim look so frantic. Granted, everyone else was as well, but Red Robin was usually collected, cool- some would say too cool, almost robotic. 

Red Robin of last week was not cool and collected. Several times Steph or Cass had to tell him to breathe, and when Duke mentioned that maybe the child wasn't exactly missing, maybe a friend's house, Red Robin had turned and ripped him on him so fast that Duke got a bit cross-eyed for a sec. Steph had to physically drag him away, with Cass asking if he was okay.

"What the hell was that all about?" He blurted instead. Cass said nothing, only patting his shoulder. 

And when Alfred called on comm, when Alfred hadn't even finished speaking before Tim was flying to the Manor- when Steph and Cass had almost collapsed with relief that Duke finally put two and two together. 

He's pretty sure Cass followed after Tim. Steph, thank God, had stayed behind to explain as they traipsed back to his apartment. And it was wild. 

"Tim just- _stole_ a kid?" He gaped at the blonde. 

"Tim pulled a Bruce," confirmed Steph. “Wanna go get food?” They ended up at Waffle House. Duke ate _so_ many hash browns as Steph told him about Jenna, about how she’s pretty much Tim’s biggest fan, and yeah the similarities between her and Tim are uncanny, but she’s pretty sure that it’s more due to the fact that they just grew up in the upper class and have shitty childhoods. At the same time, she’s helping Tim cause now Tim leveled up into a semi-functioning adult. 

“Like, he cooks now,” Steph replied through a mouthful of waffles. “He has _leftovers._ ”

“Are they edible?” he asked dubiously. 

And well- somehow it came out that Jenna wanted to meet him, and Tim also needed to check something on the BatComputer, plus she was kind of on some sort of leash after pulling her quarantine stint, so everything just lined up enough that Tim payed him to watch over Jenna at the Manor while he worked with Steph and Cass on a case of theirs. 

He would be pretty miffed if Tim didn’t venmo him a huge sum of money. Like, _rent_ money. 

“You’re on her like glue,” Tim warns, before turning and gently pushing a little white girl towards him. “Jenna, this is your Uncle Duke. He’s going to watch you.” The other man gives her a reassuring smile, and Steph is pulling him away to speak to him. 

Green eyes peer up at Duke. And - 

There is a sensation, of pulling behind his eyes, a sense that this may-have or may-will happen. He looks at the room and sees where she was. He looks and sees the ache in her bones, the way she will grow. Bruce had taught him well, and he's still learning his powers. But he sees how she will grow, and will have to fight, not only a child of Gotham, of a Bat, but just by the unfortunate way that it is whenever you aren't the majority. 

But he looks at Tim, and at her, and they reflect the same emotions he and his parents' shared. He looks and sees that she loves him, fierce and bright. 

He doesn't need powers to see that, it's obvious on her face. 

"You're very bright." He blinks at her. The first words she'd said to him. He looks down at his outfit: green overshirt, black tee underneath. Jeans, and green sneakers. 

He looks over, where Tim is discussing something with the rest of the group.

"I'm Signal. It's part of my superpower." He hedges a bet. 

"I see." And perhaps she does see. Right now, however, isn't the time to be figuring out whether she means that he's bright in the literal sense or not. Right now he has to prove his place as "Awesome Uncle" before someone like Dick or Steph takes the lead. Because he may be considered the "sane" one- a title he's not sure how he acquired, given that he's a Bat- but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to _win._

And he has just the idea. 

"So," he smiles at her. "I heard you never played basketball before. Wanna learn?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I like Duke, and I really don't want to do wrong to his character, so I really hope I got it kiiind of? I know he recently got some shadow powers in the Outsider comics, but I kind of, uh, okay so I forgot about that when I wrote this, but let's just think they haven't manifested yet/Ishmael didn't go the the League and lives a full life somewhere in the world. He probably has a dog. 
> 
> So the next, two? "chapters" are interludes, which, again, are _short_ , but do help connect with the overall, *waves hands* theme of this Universe? And will help give me some space as I try and finally integrate the final three: Dick, Damian, and Bruce. 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos.


	9. Interlude: Harper & Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protect Trans Kids, Gay Kids, Any LGBTQ+ Kid, is a motto that beats inside their blood. 
> 
> (When Harper and Cullen met the Little Lady.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another (super short) Interlude
> 
> TW: Vague mentions of abuse, homophobia, gay bashing- and I mean vague. More like Heavily Implied. And again, Q*eer used as an umbrella term.

They look at the tiny child and remember their past. 

They look at her and remember the fists, the shouts, the _curl-protect-love_ , the _shield-care-hurt_ , the emotions as they both tried to keep each other from breaking. 

The child looks at Tim like he holds all the answers in the world. 

Tim looks at her like he would tear the world in pieces to give her the answers she asks. 

They look at them, and think, _That's a family._

Harper kneels and listens with an open face and soft eyes as the girl tells her why she thinks Red Robin is amazing the best, and for now, she will hold her tongue, letting the girl gush. 

Both suck in a breath when she says that "Mr. Red Robin was the first to call her Jenna, to really see me," and oh, Tim. _Tim._

Cullen kneels and says, very quietly. "I will always be there for you, little lady." He holds her hand and it's so small.

Harper covers both of their hands, and hers is coarser, rougher. But there is strength in tiny palms, and while the child's hand is tiny, it is also sturdy. 

"We will be there for you, little lady," she repeats, and maybe it's weird, calling her "little lady" but there's a sense of...high-class, but she's in clothes that definitely were from Target and her ponytail already has some fly-aways. There's a weird stain on the edge of her shirt. 

She beams at them, and they look up to where Tim is standing behind her, smiling down at her. 

"What do you need?" Cullen can't help but ask- for even though it's impossible, he thinks he'll always be a little infatuated with Timothy Drake. Especially since there's a little trans girl calling him "Mr. Dad" and looking at him like he hung the moon. 

Privately, he also agrees with Jenna. Somewhat. 

Tim smiles at them- and it's surprising about how often he smiles now. They never seen him smile, not really, and now- 

It's disconcerting. In a good way. 

He goes on about patrol logistics and if one of them would be willing to be put on the babysitter roster (Cullen says yes immediately, Harper is more hesitant) and answers questions about how and why and where (He says he's in a legal battle, but apparently she's been basically left to her own devices since she was five, and while it wasn't okay to take a child involved in a legal battle out of a city, much less to Gotham, Tim was unapologetic in using every single trick, short of bribing judges.) 

"Thank God for Kate," he replies. "She's fostering her on paper. That's why we're working on letting me adopt her," he shrugs, letting the implications speak for themselves, of what he had to do to get the law to _submit._

Cullen smiles and it's sharp. _Good._

Harper grins and it's nasty. _Good._

They're used to having only each other's back, used to being forced to fight and knowing that only each other will be in their corner. They're used to the fact that because they're queer, they will fight, and lose. 

There's always a part of Harper that will fight harder and nastier for those who hate against people who just want to love and be themselves freely. 

There's always a part of Cullen that will be a bit more apathetic and callous towards those who hurt people who just want to love and be themselves freely. 

To see Red Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne, look at the girl and automatically accept? To understand that he will fight and fight for her, with her? 

Well. 

Harper is hesitant (she's been here before, and she will always be careful of those with money. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, after all.) 

Cullen is wary (the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and money is the root of all problems and solutions. This is familiar as a smash of a fist.) 

But Cullen will be there. Harper will be there. 

They watch as he holds her, a lightness in his eyes as Tim talks about a case, the child content to just listen, and watch her father. She looks safe.

And that's good enough, for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, man, Harper and Cullen, man. 
> 
> I need to read more about those two- honestly, from what I've read, Cullen kind of lives rent-free in my heart because I just love that boy. I don't think I really captured them, per se, here- one, Harper is a bisexual icon that like a total badass, damnit- but kind of like with the Titans chapter, this was one of the first things I wrote- Kate's interlude was going to be a lot shorter, and this was going to be tacked on to the end, and there was going to be a section where Cullen comes to watch over Jenna during Jason's chapter- obviously that didn't happen, but I really wanted to add these two in still. And I just. really like how it reads? I'm a dweeb. 
> 
> I'm still working on the final chapter it's...Bruce and Dick, man. _Bruce and Dick._ *sighs*
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos. And just, thank you all for reading and enjoying this story.


	10. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph and Tim discuss middle names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm still working on the final chapter. 
> 
> Today gonna be a double post; later I'll post the interlude, and then I'll be focusing on finishing the final chapter. But here's a chapter based on one of my favorite vines. 
> 
> TW: Mentions of animal birth, minor injuries, weapons
> 
> See end notes for Chapter's summary

“Jenna Stephanie Drake.”

Tim looks up from his paperwork. It’s Saturday, which means Cassie has taken Jenna on an outing, and they’re currently visiting DC because of course Wonder Woman found out and of course she wants to meet Jenna, Tim's not surprised. Tim said that no mystical weapons to be brought back please, and Cassie had laughed, smiling at him like he told the biggest joke ever. And if it was just Cassie and Jenna- sure, it would be a joke. 

But Cass wanted to join, she had free time _and_ she wanted to spend time with her "Favorite Niece" so it was Cassie, Cass, and Jenna all going to see Wonder Woman. 

He really, _really_ hoped it wasn’t anything that can be thrown. Both Steph and Cass had started teaching the girl how to throw darts and now there were little flechettes _everywhere_ , scattered in corners, making little dots on the walls, stuck up in seats so unsuspecting people could sit on them. Most of them weren’t even from Jenna, he thought balefully at one of the culprits, innocently whistling on the seat beside him as she typed on her laptop. 

He was working on paperwork, and Steph had an essay to complete, and she chose him because it was Saturday, and Saturday’s also meant that Babs wanted some Bat-free day time. All of this equaled why he spent at least three minutes just staring at Stephanie due to her non-sequitur. 

He blinks. “What?”

She just grins. “Jenna Stephanie Drake. Or- Jenna Cassandra Drake. That could work- both Cass and Cassie will think it’s about them, and only you, me, and Jenna will know the wiser.” 

“Which would be?” 

“It's really meant for Cassandra Morris, voice actress extraordinaire,” she replies. Tim snorts, eyeing bemusedly at her. “What brought you to this topic?” he asks, already putting down his pen. Once Steph has an idea, she doesn't really let go; it's what makes her Stephanie, and what makes her a really good Batgirl. 

“Well, you’re going to adopt her right?” She tilts back in her seat. “And yeah, maybe her name isn’t officially Jenna yet, but I’m sure she isn’t going to want her _deadname_ in any form. So we have Jenna X Drake- actually that sounds kind of badass for a middle name; Ms. Jenna X Drake.” She flashes her brilliant grin at him. 

Tim raises a brow. “Middle names?”

“Oh don’t give me that look, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” she swipes at him, the smile still on her face. “And yes, middle names. I mean, she can’t just be Jenna Drake. That’s _boring._ That’s like being called Stephanie Brown.”

“That’s your name.”

“I know what I said.” 

"And how are you so sure that she's getting my-" he stops when her blue eyes level him down. "Alright, alright, you're right. Once the adoption is complete, she's getting the Drake name." 

"Is she getting the Wayne part?" Tim glances over to the pictures on his wall. There was a couple taken from his childhood paparazzi days, some newer ones, landscapes of various places, various people. One in particular had a stoic-looking man, looking particularly constipated as another stoic, darker-skinned boy carefully placed a newborn lamb in the man's large hands, the wool still shiny from being born. It was a bit gory, but the expressions made it worth it, and seeing the picture did make his heart warm, a little. _"Tim."_

He sighs. "I'll tell him, soon, I promise." 

"You better." And sensing his unwillingness of continuing the conversation, "And you haven't even heard of the middle names I've thought up with." 

“Fine then,” he whirls in his chair until he faces her. “Hit me with some of them.”

She starts listing them out, balancing her laptop on her knees. “Cassandra. Stephanie, Barbara.” Tim rolls his eyes. “Those are just your guys’ names.” The blonde merely shrugs, moving to balance her laptop on her stomach as she rests her socked feet on the edge of his desk. “Still good names.”

“Next,” he says, motioning in an exaggerated “you’re out” gesture. She rolls her eyes at his antics, tapping the top of the laptop. “Dinah, Helena, Katherine-”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in anyone living,” he responds. “Actually I know this. She says she feels uncomfortable using someone’s name who is currently living that she knows.” Jenna used the reason for not wanting the names to be confused by a supervillain, and sadly, he could agree on that regard. Some of the villains they faced where downright dangerously dumb, and it only would take a quick internet search to find the official records and confused her with a Cape. Stranger things have happened. 

...This wasn’t a new topic, per se. He had tentatively broached the topic of names- and maybe her acquiring his last name- but she had mistaken it for him talking about name changes in general. 

"Okay," Steph drawled. "What about like, Rebecca? Holly? Heather?" He hums. 

"I mean, she's fond of alliteration, I know that,” he muses out loud. “She was thinking of Jenna Juliet, Jenna Joy, Jenna June…”

“They kind of make her sound like a country singer,” Steph bit the inside of her cheek. “Like, Jenna June and the Warblers.” He scrunches his nose, going back to his papers. “Don’t tell that to Kon,” he warns. “He figured out how much country music pisses me off and now he’s getting Jenna to sing it with him every time I’m in the next room over.” Worse, the songs were _catchy._ There had been times he caught himself humming along, and the part of him that was proud to enjoy punk rock always screamed in horror. He usually put on headphones to listen to proper music, knowing that if there was a mess, then both of them would clean up. Jenna definitely hated leaving things disorganized. 

“Red Robin, foiled by men singing about how they love their trucks and beer,” Steph teases, brushing away some of her blond hair spilling out of the bun she had originally placed it in at the start of her work session. “You gave her any ideas?”

“Well. One,” he glances back to the paperwork, spilling over his desk. “It’s kind of...silly.”

She clears her throat, and when he turns his head, her face is in a deadpan expression. “Tim, we go out nearly every night in tights and masks, while some of us are currently in the process of becoming amazing doctors, and Dick Grayson made Bat-puns when he wore the cowl.” She nudges a foot against his arm. “It can’t be that silly.” 

He rubs the back of his neck, going back to staring at his desk, remembering when he was young, peering over the top and looking at the papers scattered about like snow, on a different desk, during a different time. “It’s...kind of family tradition?” He looks up, gazing at the pictures lining the walls of his office, from the lamb one, to a young Jason as Robin, to a newer one, of a girl in silhouette, crouching by a gargoyle as her face looks away from the camera and out at Gotham. “The idea of having the Drake legacy live on, not by just surname, but that the kid takes on either the father or mother’s name as a middle- it’s why I have Jackson. My dad had Charles, after his grandfather, and so on and so on. So- I always thought if I had a kid, then their middle name would be Timothy if they were a boy and-I mean, if- if it was different-”

“If they were a girl they would've taken your wife's name for a middle name. And so Jenna would’ve taken the name of your wife.” And her voice was quiet, fading until only the sound of the clocks, the noise of Gotham, could be heard. 

He didn’t want to say how it thrilled him, just a little bit, to hear “Stephanie Drake” come out of her mouth. Steph and him would never be together, like that, again, he knew, but she would always be important to him. She was _Stephanie._ And maybe, with his desk covered in papers like snow, and the smell of her laundry detergent and deodorant, vanilla and lavender right beside him, maybe it made him a little sentimental. A little wistful. She was there for him for so long, that it still hurts, just a bit. And maybe it will always hurt, just a bit, of what they used to have. 

He coughs, and the spell is broken. 

“Obviously that isn’t happening, and I’m not going to make her take Timothy, or a variation, cause uh, it kind of sounds like her deadname, so…” he bit his lip. Steph wasn’t going to be pleased- but it kind of felt like the right thing to do. It just felt right, and maybe a tiny part of him liked carrying on that tradition, even if. Well.

Steph groans, shaking her head. “Oh my god, Tim, no, no. That’s- it’s more country than the others, plus, she was _awful_ Tim, she was considered an _Ice Queen,_ even by _you,_ and just- you didn’t suggest-”

“Jenna likes it.” Steph is gaping at him. “She really, really likes it. Like, started practicing her signature on it.”

“Oh my god,” She buries her head in her hands. “Oedipus Rex doesn’t have anything on you.” 

“Hey now,” he frowns, affronted, but she continues on, giving him a helpless look. 

“You’re seriously telling me that she wants to be called-”

* * *

“Jenna Janet, has arrived,” the girl states proudly, shifting her gladiator sandals. She is in the classic Wonder Woman pose, wearing now a light green chiton, several beaded bracelets, and a gold headband that has a thick vein of jade interwoven into her now braided hair. When Jenna left, she had been wearing one of her “outing” dresses, leggings and sneakers, hair in a ponytail, properly dressed for the cooling weather. And now she's wearing this outfit in their living room, sporting a particularly large bruise on her shoulder. "Wonder Woman said I have a good name, cause I chose it, Mr. Dad. Also, Mr. Dad, Wonder Woman says hello." 

"I'll be sure to send her a reply of thanks." He glances over to where both Cassie and Cass were similarly dressed, though Cassie was wearing a chiton in bright red and a gold, glowing chain around her waist, and Cass had her in black, also with a golden, glowing chain and her hair in a up-style with more golden chains interwoven in. Both of them had swords strapped to their backs. 

“We had a great time,” Cassie beamed, and she was missing a tooth. Cass nods, eyes sparkling even with the bruise on her cheek. 

“I got a knife,” Jenna proudly displays a fairly sizable knife, faintly _humming and glowing._ “It can cut through a lot of stuff. Wonder Woman said to only use it in a fight.” 

“She’s learning so much,” Cassie pats the girl on the shoulder. “Also, we have plans to meet up again.” 

“So it went well?” he asks, wondering if one of them remembered her original clothes. Though she was needing new sneakers; she kept either growing out or destroying them. Maybe he should look at buying them in bulk. 

“Yes,” Cass grins at him. “Steph is invited for plans,” her eyes are gleaming. 

“Hell yeah!” cries Steph from the other room. “Girl’s Day Out with Wonder Woman? Sign me the-”

“Language,” he calls out, just as Jenna starts to head to the blonde, already eager to talk about her trip. 

“I’ll say, she’s really growing into herself,” Cassie remarks, leaning against the doorframe. She looks exhausted but content, and he’s glad- visiting Wonder Woman tends to ratchet up Cassie’s anxiety, and to see her relaxed brings some relief to him. He hates seeing his friends upset. Honestly it makes up for the fact that they did bring home magical items. Cassie grins at him, exactly like she's done ever since they were young and just started Young Justice. “Though we almost hit a bit of a situation.”

“A situation?” he hears Steph and Jenna pad out to them. “What type?”

The demi-goddess shrugs. “Nothing major, Jenna decided to argue with some Georgetown boy, overhearing him mentioning something about the influx of magical items in the area-”

“He was saying that he was going to create a company just for the selling and exploitation of magical items,” Jenna interrupts, a frown on her face. “And I said that magic and capitalism don’t mix. And the first time they do, _pigs_ will fly to _Jupiter.”_

And it’s said so primly and yet with an edge of iciness that Tim is instantly taken back- 

_Janet Drake stands in front of her husband in the kitchen, rolling her eyes as he tries, for the nth time, to somehow incorporate their hobby for work, gesturing with a handful of papers as she glares at the man in front of her. “Artefacts should never be part of the free market, Jack! And the first time they do,_ pigs _will fly to_ Jupiter! _”_

He blinks back into reality.

“Mr. Dad?” She cocks her head. “Are you okay?”

“You know what,” Steph says, staring at Jenna. “You’re completely right. Her middle name is _definitely_ Janet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, in summary:  
> Tim: Let me see what you have?  
> Jenna: *proudly* A Knife!  
> Tim: NO!  
> Steph: ohmygodwhydoesshehave-
> 
> So after today it may take a while? But I have an ending! Just...need to connect the ending...to the beginning...*shifty eyes*


	11. Interlude: Talia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (When Talia had a realization.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence involving a child (Not Explicit), manipulation, kind of the usual stuff you expect when one of the al Ghul's show up to the party.

Gotham was still horrible. 

She does not want to be here. Talia does not like Gotham, hates the crowded buildings, the scent of people and smog, hates the deluge of it's perimeters. She admires her Beloved, of course, of him being the King of this festering city, but she knows he can easily do better. 

She misses the mountains. She misses the desert, and the dry wind battering her face. She misses the humidity of the island, the scent of sea and flora and life. Not this putrid rot of trash, of gas. The sounds of birds should be filling the air, not cars and the drivel of the lessers. 

When she was younger, when she had met her Beloved, she had fantasies of both of them ruling the League of Assassins, together side by side. She had imagined her son, looking so proud and strong, the compilation of two dynasties in one body, of watching the League grow stronger and stronger, under her will, her might. To see her son one day take over the League, see him rise up and fulfill her dreams for him. To tame the world, to see it flourish and bloom and become even greater because of his hands, her little Alexander the Great. 

Alas, Father had changed his own dreams, and decided that _her_ dreams were meant to stay in the realm of dreams, not reality. 

She sighs, waiting on the rooftop, in the shadows, as one of the two guards with her creep into the townhouse window, ready to plant the bugs.

She was on a mission for her father- apparently his little pet Timothy Drake wasn't playing nice and removed his bugs, moved into a new place with stronger security. Not only that, but Cain's daughter, Black Bat, had been foiling any attempts of her father's minions to replace the bugs, so now it became _her_ problem. 

She bites back a snort. This is ridiculous. She shouldn't be on some, _errand_ to play _nanny_ for her father's little pet. This is degrading. She should be busy planning her own missions, further the ideals of the League, not playing _check-up._

Father should really just end this little game he set up with Drake. Perhaps this made sense back when the boy was young, when everyone, including herself, thought her Beloved was dead, as the boy is clever and bright, could have been useful for the League. But Timothy Drake has proven his loyalty to her Beloved and his childish ideals over and over. This whole cat-and-mouse game has gone on far too long. She looks up, grimacing at the clouds covering the moon. 

...He should've been done by now. Where the hell was he? 

She jerks her head to the other, watching as he jumps down and slips into the window. There is the sound of metal against metal, and she hears the guard cry out. 

That gets her attention. She slips down, waits, looks for movement in the shadows, the quicken breath of a person, lying in wait. She enters, hand on her dagger, ready, eager for a fight. 

The two men are unconscious, one with blood leaking from his head. The other does not have noticeable wounds, but there’s a sense of electricity in the air, and she can see a taser lying near him, a frying pan, dented nearby. She sneers, nudging one of them with her foot, Fools. 

She unsheathes her dagger, walking slowly into the room. 

A shadow comes barrelling at her feet, easy enough to leap out of the attempted tackle, watching as the shadow skids into view, the moonlight gleaming on them. 

A child, green eyes staring at her, crouches low on the floor, half hidden in shadow. The child is lean, dressed in blacks as to use the darkness to their advantage. And in their hand was a knife. A knife that was humming slightly, faintly glowing. 

Her eyes open in surprise. The child _meant_ to swipe at her ankle- that was Amazonian craft, that knife could easily cut through her boot and into her achilles tendon. That _whelp_ had tried to _maim_ her. 

“You _brat,_ ” she growls. “You should fight me with honor, not shirk away.” She’s going to _exterminate_ this bug. 

She goes to swipe at the child, and yet- 

The child dodges, moving and ducking out of her blade with a quickness she hasn’t seen with the soft children she sees in playgrounds, in schools. No, this one. _This one_ has training. Basic, so basic- her parries are simplistic, and she sticks close to the floor- but enough that it’s making this not as easy as she expected. 

“Stop trying to win,” she snarls, and that’s incorrect, the girl isn’t fighting, she’s defending, but she’s tired. She’s tired of being Father’s lap dog, she’s tired of Father playing his stupid games, she’s tired of being in this _hellscape of a city-_

“I am not trying to win, I am trying to survive,” the child comments. Indeed, the child has been only doing so, even backing up as if attempting a retreat. She sneers. “Only cowards try and retreat,” she says, because of course the child would retreat, try and hide. Soft, white maggots, that’s what Americans were. Of course this child of Red Robin would turn tail and run back and hide, wait for their precious Hero to come and save their little sniveling self. She should give them honor by removing them from existence. Pathetic, _wretched, little brat._

The child tilts their head, eyes clear and emotionless. “Retreats aren’t cowardly.”

The words echo in her head. She looks at this child and-

She remembers. 

She remembers careful, warm-brown hands and clever fingers, confident in their movements as they built bombs, cleaned weapons, organized supplies. She remembers how deft they were sewing rips in clothes, wiring detonators, killing men. She remembers being young, and arrogant, of hissing her frustration at a retreat as she gazes balefully at the long, black hair shining in the sun, the thick braid with the simple _paranda_ at the end. 

Brown eyes had twinkled at her frustration. _“Retreats aren’t cowardly- rather it is a way for your enemies to inflate themselves, for when you show them wrong, when you truly destroy them, it is a more satisfying and effective victory. For they had underestimated you and considered themselves god.”_

She sheaths her dagger. 

She is. 

Curious. 

“What is your name?” She crouches down, not taking her eyes off of the child. 

The child doesn’t even blink. “A girl.” Talia hums; she can easily find the girl’s name, she knows, but the fact that the girl is smart enough to not give her a name speaks highly of her already. 

She keeps looking at the girl. The girl isn’t a strong fighter- not by a long shot. But she is clever, and not only that, there is _potential_. Talia is seeing it now; in the way she holds her body, keeps eyes locked on her own movements, the way the girl had hid in the shadows and used a frying pan to knock out one of her men by surprise, the other a taser, before slipping out a knife. The girl definitely was lucky, as neither of them were expecting a fight, much less from a whelp like this girl, but she has potential, Talia sees it. 

Like a weaponsmith, she can see the shape of a dagger in this block of metal. 

For the girl is clever, and quick. She is aware of her weaknesses, her strengths. She's not arrogant, no, but hidden behind her eyes, behind the blank stare, Talia _sees_ it. 

_Devotion. Loyalty. Determination._

Talia sees a plan. Instantaneous, she sees it all laid out- the steps, the movements, she can see it all. And it is _glorious._

She rises, not moving any closer to the girl. The girl does not move, does not move when she pads over to a counter, grabbing the first piece of blank paper she sees and a pen. The girl does not move as she scrawls a quick letter, turning back to look at her. Talia smirks, going over to kick one of the guards awake. 

"Grab the other." The guard moves to the order, quickly scooping his comrade and dragging him to the window. She turns to the girl once again, knowing that she makes an impressive figure, her back to the window, to the night, her face unseen except for her eyes. Talia smiles. 

"You will give this to a young man- his name is Hafid al Ghul, Ibn al Xu’ffasch, but he is called Damian here in America. Give this letter to him, and follow his word, and I will not come back, or place any more trackers. I will leave you, and your loved ones alone.”

“What would be the punishment?” the girl asks, and it’s almost too easy. 

Talia waves a hand around, a small toss of her hair. “It would be a _shame_ to see Red Robin destroyed, would it not?” she says, and let’s the implication do the rest. 

The girl goes white, so white, and there's _fear,_ like Talia expected. Good. She gives a laugh and slips out, just as the girl is rushing forth. As she leaps away, she turns, looks, sees the pale frightened face in the window, watching. 

Talia laughs, once, throwing her head back as her guards limp behind her, uncaring of their injuries- they will be punished, and their bodies discarded. A truly acceptable punishment for being brought down to their knees by _a child._ Off to her side, she sees the tell-tale shadows of Bats, the flash of red as one races, faster than the others back to the townhouse. Smart girl- she probably tripped the alarms herself, Talia thinks with amusement, as she runs and bounds on the rooftops of Gotham.

Gotham is awful. She despises Gotham, a festering blot. But, needed. She understands now, why her father spends energy paying attention to Timothy Drake, to the little soldiers that follow her Beloved’s side, why he pays attention to Gotham. Gotham is needed, at the moment, for there is a weapon being made, being formed. And if she plays her cards right- 

Then her son will have the _loveliest_ little dagger. And her dreams will finally become _reality._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Talia :)
> 
> Man, those al Ghul's huh?
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely kudos and comments. I'll be back with the final chapter!


	12. Dick, Damian, & Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought it was a joke/He didn't know why Clark was hesitating/He was going to _maim_ Mother.
> 
> (Dick, Bruce, and Damian find out about Jenna, and there is a party.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here. It's finally here. 
> 
> Day s of labor, of literally finishing this and completely rewriting several major sections, of me trying to make sure this isn't too OOC, wondering if I should just give up, it's here. The Final Showdown. 
> 
> Of note: So in this Universe, Dick got shot, but! Didn't go through that whole 'Ric' business, instead just got a fuck load of PTSD, trauma, and dealing with the fact that he got shot in the head and survived. If you were expecting Happy-Go-Lucky Dick, this is not the case. 
> 
> TW: Hoooo boy. Uh, Major Warnings- We got some Deadname action going on here- probably just going to say that there's some transphobia, yeah. References and Explanations of Emotional, Mental, Physical, Verbal Child Abuse, (cause Lenore is Referenced), and Bruce and Tim being assholes to each other, Implications of sexual abuse towards a minor (As in the Press making "speculations" about Dick and Bruce when Dick was first living with Bruce). Mentions of Gun violence (getting shot in the head) trauma, PTSD, and just Angst. I put asterisks so you can skip the major section if you want. Please tread carefully.
> 
> EDIT: y'all please forgive me, but apparently there's still some errors I've missed. I apologise. 
> 
> Please Enjoy.

To be fair, Dick thought it was a joke at first. A goof, a laugh. Except he kept staring at the email and back at his fists and it wasn't really funny. 

He had just got done with a long term mission. A long term mission off-world. He had finally been cleared for said off-world mission after having a bullet rip through his brain and somehow surviving, only having to deal with the facts of suffering huge memory losses and changes in his mood, along the whole aspect and acceptance of being shot in the goddamn head and surviving. Which was great. Really. He _loved_ being stuck in a hospital bed, unable to move, how there was times where he knew he used to know and how he didn't, or how his mood was like a rollercoaster on a good day or how he felt so damn worthless and guilty- 

Dick takes a breath, forcing his hands to unclench, feeling the anger slowly start to fade as he continues to watch his hands. He understood how Jason felt, now. The random surges of anger. 

God, he barely remembered going in and out, those horror show days of being in the hospital, of dealing taking a damn bullet to the head. He vaguely remembers fear. He vaguely remembers anger. He definitely remembers not wanting to be alone, not wanting to die.

Bruce actually stepped up to the plate, for this one, he wasn’t Batman, he was _Bruce-_ it didn’t matter what was the price, the payment, the pride, Bruce spent the money, called the favor, actually asked Diana and Zatanna for help. Asked _Superman_ for help. Got some Birds of Prey to cover Bludhaven. Flew him to Cali to recuperate, to spend time with his Titans, with Donna and Wally and Kyle, and yes, even _Roy,_ to help him remember. Bruce even got Damian to come, when he was up to having his little brother by his side, when he wasn't feeling exhausted as he had relearn movements that were once so easy for him, had to relearn how to control his emotions, had to relearn _control._

Even magic, even Kryptonian science, had their limits. 

Yet he didn't have seizures. He basically had almost all of his memory back. He could plan and strategize, and could form and retain new memories. He had self control. So maybe his moods were a little more shaky, and maybe some days he couldn't even form a sentence, and maybe he had days where everything felt off, and maybe he could never again look at a gun without feeling the bullet ripping through his skull, but he had his control back.

And Bruce was there. The Titans ( _his_ Titans) were there. Babs was there. Damian was there. Tim and Jason were also there, but maybe less, and he honestly didn't blame them. Tim had been running Wayne Enterprises for years now (he couldn't remember fully, but he could believe when they said he was. Timmy has always been a clever cookie, the cleverest of them all) and Jason-

Jason was Jason. The times that they did spend together now, were mercifully peaceful and gun less. Slowly forming new bridges, a new relationship. 

And he was. Better. Better ish? He was back in the mask, and back with the JLA, and while he hadn't be on patrol for a while, hadn't swung from Gotham's or Blud's scrapers, he was at least wanted for planning, for strategizing, or even training new heroes, new masks and capes that gave him starry-eyed looks. He ran a couple of missions off-world, and it felt damn good to be back in the suit. He never really noticed how much he would miss it, until it almost slipped out of his grasp.

It was fine, though. The off-days, the new triggers, the new and old nightmares, the times where he would wake up with Damian curled up next to him, the light coming from the blinds highlighting his sleeping, tear-stained face. Everything was fine. 

It had to be fine. 

And it was mostly fine, even when he came back from one of the longest off-world mission yet and opened his email to find an invitation, stating that he and a friend were cordially invited to come to Miss Jenna J. Drake-Wayne's Adoption Party, this weekend in the afternoon, and would it be lovely to RSVP as soon as you can, thank you. Refreshments will be served as well. 

An address that was unfamiliar to him was on the bottom of the signature. 

He keeps watching his hands, the panic rising in his mind as he watches his fists tense and relax. 

Clench. Unclench. 

Yeah everything was just fucking peachy _keen._

* * *

Superman wanted something. 

It was after the mission- god, the fucking _mission._ Off-world missions always drained Bruce, and yet when Diana asked, he never said no- it was Wonder Woman, why would he? It wasn’t as bad as some missions went- a mere diplomacy issue that honestly could have been resolved with Lanterns, if it hadn’t then turned almost into an intergalactic incident after a Prime Minister was mysteriously killed, and of course there was a damn Doomsday device that was stolen- but Bruce was tired and ready to head back down to Earth, to Gotham. It seemed that he'd spent ages glued to the cowl, the cape, as before this mission there was the incident in Alaska, and an Arkham Breakout and in between it was small-time villains and Rogues, and the list went on. He’d already sent Nightwing and Damian back to the locker rooms to get ready to head home, ready to head there himself when Clark ambushed him, worried about something. 

It was obvious when he did- the hesitation, the concerned look, his tendency to forget to keep his feet on the ground as he fidgets with his hands. 

Clark's a worrier by nature. He worries he was doing too much. He worries that he was doing too little. He worries and worries until Bruce wondered how the hell did Lois get anything done from Clark's fretting. 

Well, other than being Lois Lane, star reporter and firecracker. 

Does anyone still use firecracker as a term? Bruce knows Alfred uses it still, but sometimes it was as if his vocabulary never evolved since the 60's, and other times the man would say a slew of words that Bruce was positive weren't even _invented_ yet. 

Clark's still worrying. 

"Yes?" 

Bruce watches as the Kryptonian thins his lips, his own patience growing thin. He's tired, and disgusting, and he's ready to get back to the Manor and collapse for at least an hour or two before even looking at the reports and updates since he was gone-

"Does she like cake?"

Bruce just stares at him. "What?" 

"Does she like cake?" Clark repeats. "I know there's going to be refreshments, but Lois really wants to try this recipe out, so we were wondering if she likes cake- specifically chocolate chip loaf cake, but does she have allergies or-”

“Clark,” Bruce glares at him, “What the hell are you talking about?” His mind is whirring. Who was she? A party was happening, that was the implications, but for who? Clark was implying a party of some sort, someone that they both know, someone that Bruce should know more intimately than him- however there were no birthdays, anniversaries, or other major celebratory events that would be happening in the upcoming weeks. Bruce hadn't checked his email yet- the trials of being off-world is that things like emails and non-emergency messages had to be read when back at the Watchtower. He really hoped he didn't get invited to something minor, like a housewarming party- last time he heard though, Scott and Barda were thinking of moving out of their condo-

"Clark, Barda likes any type of cake- she's not that particular," He shrugs a shoulder. "And I'm really do need to get back to Gotham, so-"

"What?" 

"What?" 

Both men stare at each other. 

The Kryptonian had the nerve to blink at him, a confused look appearing on his face. “For the adoption party? It’s customary to bring a gift, but we figured food would work just as well-”

“Adoption Party?” He blurts out. Scott and Barda were expecting another kid? After what happened with Jacob's birth the first time, he assumed that the Frees were fine with one kid. He's not sure how adoption would work for two gods, especially if one had a day job in _show business._

Clark's fully on the ground now, shock etching his features. “The Adoption Party,” Clark says this slowly, and Bruce would snap at him, but he’s currently feeling as if the gravity is off in the Watchtower, as if there's nothing underneath him. Clark isn't talking about Scott and Barda. “Celebrating the Adoption? Tim’s Kid, Jenna?” And, a bit more insistent, “Your new _granddaughter?”_

And Bruce, Batman-

Batman’s jaw drops. 

* * *

Babs answers on the third ring.

"There better be a fucking apocalypse happening, asshole," came her familiar, tired growl, and Dick nearly sobs with relief at hearing her voice. "Because I need to sleep and one of your other redheads is on night duty-"

"Babs," he forces out, letting his right fist clench and unclench, clench and unclench. "Babs."

"Hey," instantly it was her soft voice, her I'm-here voice, the one that made him remember cuddling under blankets and watching Gotham under the smog and stars. "Hey, I'm here, Dick, what's up?" 

"The invite, the. Email." And words are hard, right now, but she has to know, she has to be aware of what's going on, she's the Oracle, she's _Babs._ "The Adoption." 

"The- ohhh shit. Oh shit." Her voice goes contrite. "Damnit, I thought that boy told you already." She sounds angry, annoyed. "Goddamn it, Tim." 

Something loosens in his chest. "So this is new? Not." 

"Oh Dick," and her voice is sad and warm. 

He laughs, wetly, a little hysterically. "I thought I forgot," he admits. "I thought I forgot something important, that I forgot about some major change in my little brother's life and-"

If he forgot that, what else he'd forgot? What other gaps in his memory that weren't there before? What other pits? 

What other situations will arise, and make him feel like he's falling once again? 

_He'll fly through the air with the greatest of ease…_

"Dick? Dick?" Babs is talking. "Dick? Can you hear me?"

"Sorry," he gasps. "Mind- thoughts. Yeah." 

"Dick, it's fine, it's fine," she says. It's not, but he appreciates her optimism. "The adoption- God, I really wanted Tim to say this. This isn't- this isn't my place.” He hears her sigh heavily, before blurting out: “Tim basically 'pulled a Bruce' as the new saying goes and was fostering a kid. The adoption finally went through." 

Hold up. 

"What?" 

"That's what the invitation is about. Tim recently adopted a child and he should've told you all already." Now Babs is sounding irritated again. "I _told_ him I didn't want to be the first one to tell you." 

He can feel his phone creaking, the initial panic and fear dissipating as another emotion is taking place. 

Oh. 

He's getting pissed off. 

"Tim did **_what?"_ **

* * *

"This is idiotic," Damian complains. "I don't understand why we have to go to whatever mess Drake caused." 

He adopted a child, Bruce wants to say, but his lips are numb and the sentence was a mantra in his head, ever since they returned from the Watchtower. Tim adopted a child. His second youngest adopted a child. _He adopted a child._

The weather was cool and clear, a refreshing chill from the off-world mission, and the address being close to a subway station, along with neither of them wanting to drive, all three of them were walking. They all had stayed in the WE Penthouse, none of them wanting to go to the Manor in case...which was ridiculous, because logic would say that the child was staying with Tim, at Tim’s place, but maybe the child had already taken over. Maybe the entire Manor was filled with toys and ripped fabrics and the BatCave was covered in glitter. Maybe they all had been pushed out. Maybe Bruce was panicking but he also realises that he doesn’t know how old the child is. What if it was a toddler? Batman could speak to toddlers. Brucie couldn’t speak to toddlers. Bruce was supposed to be both and he had no idea.

He glances over to see Dick, quiet, face neutral, still sulking a bit. He'd been originally upset, more fuming at the fact that he wasn't made aware of Tim’s recent adoption, and yes, even Bruce had to admit that there was a surge of anger after the initial shock, confusion and annoyance at Tim being so- irresponsible. 

Except, a dark voice hissed, maybe that wasn’t exactly true.

Damian's still ranting, gesturing as they walk down the street. "-And isn't there a law of some sort? For this nonsense to not happen?" 

"No," Bruce hears himself say. "As long as you're 21, you can legally adopt. Tim's 23."

"Exactly like someone else we know," Dick mutters and Bruce honestly hopes that today isn't a Bad Day. 

Though they're getting less. In the beginning, every day was a Bad Day, of frustration and anger and swinging emotions. It had been heartbreaking to watch his eldest son having to fight to regain pieces of him. Some days he would wake up, confused, scared. Some days he would be angry. Other days it was as if the energy was sapped from him, eyes hollow and unseeing as he sat, having to be reminded of simple tasks.

It was frightening, to see someone like Dick, always moving, fluid, still and fixed. But he's better, Bruce reminds himself. He's better and he'll continue to be better and okay-

Oh. There's Jason. 

And Roy. Bruce frowned, seeing the redhead and another, shorter figure, with black hair and-

 _"Harper,"_ Damian growls out and Bruce prays for not another bloodbath. 

Lian Harper, as the teen vigilante hero "Flechette" was also known, grins toothily at the older boy. "Heya Tiny Bat!" She cries, waving wildly, her ponytail swinging. Roy and Jason smile at her antics, and Bruce takes a moment to enjoy seeing his second eldest smile. They look well- there's an ease to Jason that Bruce hasn't seen in a long time, and a relaxed looseness to Roy's mouth that he's never seen before. Alas, Damian is the one slowly becoming tense instead, his shoulders starting to rise. 

"Harper I am taller than you," The boy growls, ignoring the twin groans from his elders. The others might up for unity between the Arrows and Bats, but Flechette is all for antagonizing Robin, much like the original Arrow and Bat, especially given by her grin as she walks up. 

"Alright, Emo bat," she says. "I'll grant you that. Or shall we go with Green Bat, cause there's One Bat, Two Bat, Red Bat, Blue Bat…" 

"Your insults are as pathetic as they're juvenile, Harper," he sneers at her, and she shrugs, uncaring. "Yeah, but that's 'cause you get all shrieky when anyone calls you Sasuke.”

“Roy, Jason, good to see you," Bruce says as he covers his son's mouth, his son that is now _hissing_ at the girl, hackles raised, exactly like a cat. 

Selina would be proud. Or deeply amused. 

Both of the men give them a nod, though Jason's original smile slipped into a wary look, raising a brow at them. “You actually came? Color me surprised." 

“Hn.” Bruce heard Dick hum as well. As usual, it was Damian who used words, albeit harshly. 

“We’re coming to see what a colossal mistake Drake has brought to this family,” Damian straightens as he says this, voice taking on a familiar haughty tone. “We were given invitations without any notice, mind you, about this...adoption party. As such, Father and Grayson are here to lecture Tim on whoever was the unfortunate whelp to be snagged in his hands." Bruce however can see the tension lining his son's shoulders, and the hint of his accent thickening shows how also shocked he was at the situation and how concerned he is. If Roy Harper was here, then he met Tim's child, and there's evidence to suggest that Tim didn't mean to send out an invite to them, that they didn’t know was on purpose. And Bruce doesn't know what to do with that information. 

Jason’s face darkens and tension starts to crawl up Bruce’s spine. He knows that face- it’s the same one he used to make whenever someone would make an off-color remark about his mother, when he was younger, before he fully dealt with the undertow of Gotham's Elite. And- right, Jason hadn't spent a lot of time with Damian, he wouldn't know what to look for, to see that Damian is just anxious. He braces himself as Jason's opens his mouth “First of all, you little Edgelord-”

“Harper, what the hell!” growls Damian, rubbing his shoulder. Lian had already leaned back, fist unclenching from the punch she’d given Damian. 

“You don’t talk about family that way,” she says, calmly, matter of fact. “Also, that’s _my_ favorite baby cousin you’re smack-talking, so watch your mouth, Wayne.” There's a glint in her blue eyes, the same look every Arrow gets, her hand twitching that Bruce knows is her wanting to grab her bow. She means her warning. 

Damian is merely staring at Lian. Granted, both him and Dick are too. 

“Cousin?” The teen chokes out. “How the hell is Drake’s mistake your- Fuck! Harper, I said watch your _damn_ hands!”

“Suck it up, _Sasuke,_ ” sneers Lian, again leaning back from the quick jab at Damian’s lower abdomen. “It’s not like it actually _hurt._ Now, if you excuse me, I am going to secure my role in being the number one cousin. _Ciao._ ” She flits off into the townhouse, leaving the five of them. 

Roy gives the Bats a hesitant smile, opening his mouth before closing it.

This. May be a Disaster. 

"I'm surprised they have enough space," Roy says, coughly lightly into his fist. They say nothing. Damian is glaring at the red head and Dick has easily retreated back into his mind, a coping mechanism from his recuperating months. "Brownstones tend to have small rooms?" 

“Actually I think it's on the rooftop garden, more area,” Jason says, and that can’t be right. Bruce feels Dick stiffen beside him and he leans against his son, trying to be the steady presence for him, trying to be there for his son. 

Roy turns to Jason squinting. “Tim’s into gardening now?”

Tim doesn’t have a green thumb, Bruce thinks. Does he?

He can’t remember. He knows Alfred would continuously have to pick up after the boy, but since he moved out- he just assumed his flat was like any other twenty-something year old flat, maybe with more weapons and lab equipment. He certainly didn’t think that Tim went into gardening. For one, he probably didn’t have the time. 

And who’s fault is that? Whispered the dark voice. Who’s fault is that you don’t know these things?

Dick is looking at Roy, something akin to confusion. “You knew before me?” And his voice is so small. 

Roy shifts, opens his mouth, but Jason is already nudging the redhead, walking to the doorway. “C’mon; we’re gonna be late.” 

* * *

The rooftop was more of a deck than a garden, it turned out. Definitely decked out for the party.

It was half deck and half enclosed room up top, though the panels of glass added dimension and openness. Various outdoor furniture was scattered throughout the two spaces, most of it in the modern boxy look Tim usually defaulted to, though there was an ornate peacock chair colored bright purple that Steph had obviously brought over. Large pots, strategically placed, were filled with citronella candles, the long, twisting wax in a variety of colors and filling the air with the citrusy scent. In a corner was a grill, a large table set up with a mismatch of chairs nearby. Someone had strung up string lights around a privacy fence that was surrounding the area, streamers of various colors adding a festive air. People were already milling about. 

Dick hates it. 

No, he didn't hate the party; he hates the fact that it was on the roof, with taller buildings surrounding them. The privacy fence meant that no one could see them, spy on them, but it also meant that there was a perimeter around them, a fence to keep them all contained like _sitting ducks-_

"There's a shield." 

He didn't even notice Cass standing beside him, and his heart beat wildly before settling. It was Cass. Of course he didn't notice Cass. Her words finally caught up to him. 

"A shield?" She nods. "Tech one- Luke and Tim have been working on. Invisible shield. Safe from lasers and bullets." She points to the top of the fence and there's a faint shimmer, colored like a bubble, in the air. A shield. There's a shield encasing the area. 

"Good to know that it's safe from lasers and bullets, wouldn't want killer robots attacking," he tries to joke, but even he can hear the grateful relief in his voice, feel himself uncoiling, smiling as Cass brushes an hand against his arm as she turns and leads Roy and Jason away, heading to where Alfred is grilling, listening to Lian chatter at him. He still feels unsafe but. Tim doesn't like using anything until he's positive it will work, and Tim. Tim wouldn't do that. 

But what if he would? A low voice hissed in his mind. What if this is all a ploy to get you comfortable,get you complacent, and then it's another-

He stops listening. He knows better. Tim and him may not be as close as before, but Tim is good. He's loyal to his family, to his friends. Dick looks at Jason, at Roy, as they greet Alfred, and yes, it stings that Roy knew before him, but there’s probably a good reason that he knew, it wasn’t intentional, right?

He doesn't know. Dick doesn't know anymore. This adoption is fucking him up and he wants to believe that Tim didn't do this intentionally but he doesn't actually _know._ It's been months, almost a year since he saw Tim, since he last saw him when he was still in PT, and sure, they text and call, that never stopped, but he hasn't _seen_ his little brother. 

He wants to talk to Tim. He wants to talk to Tim privately and figure out why on earth were they not aware, why _he_ was left out. The rest of the Bats are here- Babs, Steph, Cass, Harper, Cullen- and he sees Luke casually chatting with Duke. Hell, he sees _Kate_ over where Alfred was currently grilling, talking with Lois and Clark. The Bats are here and congregating and Damian is sticking close to him, who's sticking close to Bruce, who's hovering on the edges of the area. The three of them are sticking close together, on the edges of the party, not stepping over the imaginary boundary. 

_...with the greatest of ease..._

“Dick, Damian, hey-” and there's Kon, smiling as he walks towards them. "Sorry, Jon had a thing…" he trails off, staring at their faces before sighing. "Tim said nothing, did he?" It's not a surprise that Kon would know before, but _damn_ is it embarrassing to know it reads on their faces so well. 

"How many people know?" It wasn't- it's not a huge gathering, but if Tim's best friends were here, then it wasn't just a Bat situation- people knew. Maybe the entire Justice League. Everyone knew except Dick, Bruce, and Damian, and when the hell did they get shut off from the rest of everyone else?

Well, Dick amends, that can't be right. _His_ Titans would have said something to him if they knew- barring Roy- and also, most of them had been off-world for months. 

"...sorry," he refocuses back to apologetic blue eyes, a shade lighter than Kryptonian blue. "We all told Tim to at least send y'all a text or something, but-"

"No, no, it's- it's alright." Dick smiles at Kon, feeling Damian scoot a little closer to him. "I mean, not really but-"

"Yeah," Kon's face still looks chagrined. "Look, Dick-" 

"Hey! Dick! Damian," Cassie is heading to them, a smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt but have either of you guys seen Tim? Or Jenna? Lian’s looking for the little lady, and I actually can’t find them anywhere." And- that’s true. There was a distinct lack of Tim and a little girl around. Even with his elevated...everything, Dick couldn’t see Tim anywhere. He was getting a strange feeling. 

“He’s still at the courthouse with her!” Bart’s jovial voice piped, rushing in. Dick felt his heart jump, because yes he was used to Speedsters, he hung out with Wally, but Bart had a different build and demeanor, something that the part of his brain that still felt the break, that part, didn't understand. Carefully, he loosens and tightens his fists. Clench. Unclench. 

Cassie tilts her head, frowning. “Why would he be there, missing the party?” No response, and then. “Bart, Tim is aware that we’re having a party after the final trial, right? You _did_ tell him, yeah?”

Impulse starts to nervously laugh, cringing away.

“Bart, you did clear it with Tim, right?” Cassie’s eyes were widening ever so slowly. _“Right?”_ Her voice is carrying, causing heads to turn towards them.

Bart gives another weak chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “I mean...kind of?”

“Bart, listen to me,” And Cassie is gripping Bart's shoulders, her face serious as she leans in. “This isn’t a surprise party, right? A surprise party for a girl who does not react well with surprises, along with her adopted father, who _also does not react well to surprises_ , right? This isn’t that type of situation, especially since said man really, _really_ hates surprises after _the ninjas broke into his house._ Said man that would attack first and then ask questions, but that’s not that situation, right? This isn’t that situation, Bart. Because that would be _bad._ ”

“If it was,” the shorter man starts, after a generous pause. “On a scale from 1 to 10, how bad would it be?” Kon’s already gone.

 _“Bartholomew Henry Allen the Second,”_ Cassie hisses. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Dick watches as they start to argue, and maybe he should try and intervene, but he’s more interested in what Cassie said- the ninja part.

“Hey, did you know any of this?” He asks, noticing Steph and Cass walking over to the sound of Cassie ranting at Bart about how a Bad Idea it was to throw a surprise party for a Bat. Granted, Tim would be the one of the few that would be open to the idea; he forgot his birthday more often than not, that he usually reacted the least non-violently. But the ninjas that were mentioned threw a new snag to the idea. 

Steph nods. “A couple of patrols back the alarms got triggered- there was blood on the floor, but no bodies, and nothing too disturbed. Jenna was fine, scared, but fine. We assumed it was Ra’s trying to bug his house again.”

“Still?” He can’t believe that Ra’s al Ghul is still on that. “Doesn’t he have better things to do? Like, I don’t know, plant trees, plot a genocide or something?” At their shrugs, he sighs. Well, they certainly need to be aware of _that._ They've come a long way from Tim's World Tour, and for the most part, he did spill the tea on Ra's al Ghul wanting to pull him over to the Dark side. Dick thought they had it handled- that's why Tim moved in the first place. That's why they were talking. Maybe not a lot, but enough. 

The ninjas breaking in and hearing second-hand, days after, is making dread curl in his stomach. 

"I know I-"

"What the hell?" 

"Language," came several voices, automatically and- 

Oh. Kon's back. Tim's here. 

He has his- He has a child with him. 

Dick isn't sure what he was expecting (clench unclench) maybe following the Wayne trait of black hair (clench unclench) that nearly all of them have or have blue eyes (clench unclench) that a good portion of them have. She doesn't. Her hair is wavy and long, light brown and tied in a low ponytail. Her eyes aren't a variation of blue, but like Damian, they're green. But more importantly, her hair isn't black, it's brown. She doesn't really even look like Tim- her face is a little long, more oval than Tim's. She looks adopted. 

Oh, he thinks. She can't be Robin. She's too different. 

Immediately guilt fills his stomach, choking his throat. That's a horrible thing to think. Jesus, she looks eight, or maybe nine, way too young to be Robin, she's a _child,_ and they don't even know if she has training, but she probably doesn't- no, she can't be Robin because she's a _kid,_ not because of some arbitrary issue like _hair color._

He doesn't even know if she wants to be Robin, or any vigilante. He's thinking about the mantle of Robin and caped and she's probably not into that- or maybe she is. Maybe wanted to be Robin so she concocted this whole plan to- no, no. Stop it, he chides in his brain. She's not stepping into the role of Robin- and yes, Damian is definitely outgrowing it, still in that nebulous stage of needing a new identity and yet not wanting to give up the old one just yet- but she's too young and tiny and she doesn't have the right hair. She's just. A kid. That Tim adopted. A kid that his little brother adopted who moonlights as a vigilante like the rest of their weird family and maybe she doesn't want the caped life. Maybe she'll be fine with not going out at night and just staying at home worrying if this is the day she's an orphan again. 

Does she know about Red Robin?

...Are her parents even dead?

Maybe he needs to stop thinking on this train of thought because he can feel himself start to get into that spiral, that spiral of thoughts that made him remember how it felt to watched his parents fall-

He needs to be someone right now, doesn't he? He needs to be a good older brother. Dick "Goldie" Grayson, original Boy Wonder. Dick shakes his head, plasters on a smile and bounds up to her. "Hi! I'm-"

"Thank you, but no," she interrupts, eyes wary as she ducks behind Tim's legs. "We thank you for your consideration, have a nice day."

He blinks. "Um, what?" 

Kon smiles bemusedly at her. "Jenna, this is Dick, your Uncle? This is Tim's older brother?" 

She doesn't move, just keeps staring at him with wary eyes. He smiles brighter. 

"Please stop." 

The chatter falls silent. 

"Excuse me?" He must be wrong, must of heard wrong, she didn't just say-

"Please stop smiling. I know you don't want to, and it's very disconcerting. I would be more tactful, but I'm tired and it's not a nice smile, so, please." 

Dick. There's no air in his lungs, because he smiles, alright? That's his thing. He knows how to _smile,_ how to beam even when everything is falling apart, even when _he's_ falling apart, he knows how to put on a smile. And she- _this child-_

She's practically attempting to absorb herself into Tim's legs. 

Distantly he hears Tim murmur low voices towards his friends, such as "finalized today" and "both exhausted" and "what the _Hell,_ Bart." 

Ah. They really did just get back from the courthouse. He looks at them more carefully. 

Both look tired. Tim's in one of his CEO suits, the ones that make him look sharp and deadly and yet personal all the same. Dick has no idea how Tim manages to pull off suits like that, but he does. But there's a rumpleness to the outfit and Tim's hair isn't in his power-man-bun that he usually wears his hair in, but rather the half-ponytail. He's in his glasses as well and he looks exhausted. The girl (Dick should really remember her name, or maybe not? Since, you know, she hates him) is weirdly wearing a black suit, a stoic gray tie, down to the little shiny black shoes, and she looks more like a boy than a girl, which, mad respect of Tim breaking the gender binary. 

He tries again. "You look quite adorable in your suit." 

And now she looks horrified, and Tim is glaring at him, and so is nearly everyone else and what the _hell_ did he say wrong now- 

"Favorite Cousin!" And it's a transformation, from the look of horror to elation as Lian bounces up, hugging the child in a spin. The girl gives out a laugh. "Lian! I missed you!" Her arms are wrapped around the girl's neck, beaming wildly. 

"Hey Baby cousin," Lian laughs, easily holding up the giggling girl. "I missed you too- hey, I have an idea; don't we go downstairs and get you all pretty for the party and we can catch up?" 

Dick frowns. Jenna doesn't really look like one who would get "all pretty" if she's wearing a suit. She's probably a tomboy. "Lian, are you sure-" 

"What a great idea," Kon's steps in front of him, the look he gives to Dick is one that's a storm of emotions, one that Dick couldn't read before Kon is back facing the girl. "Come on, Lian, Jenna-bird, let's get everyone party-ready while Tim explains things." The girls nods, letting themselves be gathered by the Super they walk downstairs. 

He looks up at Tim. “What the hell did I do?”

And Tim, if possible, just looks even more tired. “Just drop it Dick.” He’s rubbing at his eyes, the familiar two-finger eye rub of exhaustion. “It’s...been a long day.” 

“I can tell,” he rises, giving his little brother a tight smile. “So I guess congratulations are in order, huh?” And there’s a thrill of vindictive pleasure that races up his spin at the way Tim stiffens. “Dick, look, I can explain-”

“Can you?" He tilts his head. "Because to me it seems that you adopted a kid and told everyone else other than- the three of us." 

Well. That's said. 

"Dick," and there's a new emotion that he's seeing, because this is usually where Tim gets all defensive and snappy, but now he's quiet and patient and cold. "I've had a really long day. I understand that I didn't tell you and you're upset, but I had hoped that I would, after tonight. This party?" And here he gives a glare to Bart, who zips behind Clark. "Isn't planned at all. I'm sorry you found out like this, and we can have a conversation at a later date, but-" 

"Dick," and it's Duke stepping in, Steph behind him with a look of concern on her face. "Dick, look, I know it seems bad-"

"Dick, it's shocking but-" Steph's words overlap with Duke's and Dick is tired. He's tired and he's _been_ tired and he doesn't want to get into another argument about how he's always in the _wrong._ So he smiles. “Yeah,” and Dick’s smiling, smiling at Tim and the rest of the family. He's Dick Grayson, the smiling Robin. “Yeah, no hard feelings, right?” 

Wrong. 

Dick doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t know how and when exactly this break happened- and maybe he can guess where- but it seems looming and large and he’s half-afraid that if he even tries to cross it, to attempt to bridge the gap, he’ll just fall down and down and then everything would be ruined. 

_...That daring young man..._

Dick hates it here. 

He wants to leave. He wants to fix things with Tim without the pain he knows it’s going to bring- no, he wants to go back. He wants to go back to when Timmy was young and new and maybe Dick was using Tim as a way to soothe his own feelings with Jason- no, he wants to go back to when it was just B and him, the dynamic duo, even if it was strange and lonely going back to the manor every night- no, he wants to go _home._ He wants to go back to having his parents hug him, tell him that they love him, proud of him, that his only concern was working on getting the new trick perfect for the night’s performance. 

But he can’t go back, he can go only forward, and get through the pain one more day. 

“No hard feelings?” Tim’s staring at him. “What on earth does no hard feelings mean?”

“So, Jenna, right?” He’s smiling, he’s fine, he’s fine. He feels Damian and B at his side again and that settles something in his chest. He's peachy keen. “That’s a cute name.”

“She picked it out herself.” Tim’s looking at him, looking at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “She chose the middle name as well.”

“Oh, what’s her middle?”

“Janet.”

 _“Oh.”_ Dick hears Bruce intake of breath. Dick met the infamous Ice Queen only once- at a Gala, and he was perfectly fine with that one interaction. Yes, he felt bad when she died, but mostly because Tim was sad because he lost his mom. Janet Drake was a feared name, but she was still Timmy’s _mom._ He wasn’t sure how to feel of a child wanting that name. He was still re-learning- well. He was still re-learning, everything, obviously. 

“Where's she from?” Bruce, with his ever-amazing bluntness. Tim is rubbing at his eyes, pushing up his glasses. "Star City; she's born here though." 

Hold up. 

"Star City?" Dick stares at Tim. "Why would you adopt someone from Star City?" That makes no sense. "When were you _in_ Star City?"

"To check on her." 

"Why?" Dick is confused. "Wait, does Green Arrow know?" They _just_ got done with a mission involving Green Arrow, and that man is still a blabber mouth about anything that wasn't mission related. But Tim shakes his head. "Queen didn't know, I asked Mia. She owed me a favor," Tim says, still calm and it's confusing. 

"Wait, so you went to Star City, after letting Mia know, but not Green Arrow, and you randomly adopted a kid." Dick rubs his head. "Again, why?" Sure, maybe Tim lost his mind and kidnapped a child like Bruce did to Jason, but Jay had been homeless and technically parentless. No one was looking for him. 

"I'm with Grayson," Damian interjects. "The logic is too confusing for even you to follow." 

"Do you really want to know?" Tim is staring them down. "Do you honestly want to know?" At their nods, the man took a deep breath. 

"Roughly a year back, we- Bart, Kon, Cassie and I, got visited by a young Justice League team via dimension portal while we were having a movie night at the Tower. It wasn't anything malicious or for any particular reason, it was literally an accidental misfiring of a multiversal device. As such, they needed to get home, but along the way, we...conversed." He swallows. "One of them- their leader, Delta, apologized for the interruption, stating that she was the reason this happened, as she was wanted to check on another counterpart in our Universe, as in Delta's youth, she had been abused and neglected, and in a fit of piqued interest, Delta wanted to check on the counterpart." 

"And did she?" Bruce rumbles. Tim shakes his head. "No. She had only wanted to observe, not make contact, and was worried that doing the check or even attempting any contact would be determintental. She wasn't even sure about what age the counterpart would be- but because she remembers various times of almost dying, at the minimum, would want the counterpart to survive." 

"How would she do it, if she had no plans on interacting?" 

"At best, only hope for the better- if worst, call an emergency hotline, send an anonymous tip," Tim shrugs. "She had a plan of making a false attempt at a break-in, to get the security alarms to go off and have her other self found if said child was dying." 

Damian scoffs. "And you believed her?" 

Tim didn't even flinch. "Kon listened to her pulse, and she held the lasso of truth. Each of the members consented to the lasso, and minor interrogation. So yes, we believed her." 

"They didn't make any advances," Cassie says, popping beside Tim. "They were fine." 

"Fine," Damian growls. "Fine means nothing. You don't know-"

"They did nothing," Bart supplies. "I would've stopped them.” 

"You?" Damian was obviously shocked, but Dick sees it. He's seen the damage and power a Speedster can bring- the control needed to be able to slow down. Bart was Barry's grandson- sure, Barry was the Flash, but Bart- Bart always seemed to just be a little faster. Dick watches as Cassie leans in closer to the young man, placing a hand on his shoulder as her gaze remains calm, unmoving.

“Bart’s a speedster,” Cassie’s voice is quiet, stormy. “ They didn’t have a speedster. If he saw anything wrong, he would’ve protected us. But there wasn’t.”

“A _speedster._ ” Damian’s sneer was high on his face. "A speedster isn't-"

"A speedster who can, who has, can easily disarm a person," Cassie retorts. "And they didn't do anything. We talked for a bit, and then we went to get the Artefact, and they left. Nothing happened for once." 

And Damian is getting tense again, shoulders rising up. "I just don't see how-"

"She was mine," Tim isn't looking at anyone. "Delta- I adopted her- she was my daughter. She told me- not everything, but snippets, small facts. I had daughters- children, who," he wraps his arms around himself. "Who." 

Bruce does not move. Dick remembers to breathe. Damian looks away. 

Eventually, Tim straightens himself. "Delta didn't ask for me to adopt Jenna, she just wanted to make sure she was alive- she didn't even request that I was the one who did it, only if I could get an Arrow or another Bat to check. Mia was the one who did the recon. I was the one who decided to visit her, to foster her, to adopt her. That's my decision." Tim’s eyes- no, Red Robin gazes at them, eyes defiant, cold. This is a man who would give the world to his loved ones, at the cost of himself. "And I love her. And I will fight you if you try and be all you, Bruce." 

Bruce opens his mouth. 

"Uh." 

Kon and Lian are back, with Jenna in tow. 

Gone was the suit, the low ponytail. Her hair was now spilling down her left shoulder, two red sequined barrettes clipped on the other side. She had on a warm, cream-looking dress, a red cardigan, and instead of pants, she was wearing black tights and boots underneath. She walked over to Tim, passing him a pink barrette. “I have your celebratory barrette, Mr. Dad.”

“Thank you Jenna,” he deftly clipped it to his side bangs, raising a single eyebrow at Dick’s face. “Yes?”

Dick kept staring, feeling his mouth drop slightly open. “You have a party barrette?” Tim levels him with a deadpan look. “I have a celebratory barrette, a work barrette, and even a lucky barrette as well." 

Why, he thinks, but Dick's mouth moves into "It looks good on you." Tim blinks, and his gaze softens into a look of wariness. Dick can work with that. He can use that to get them back on an equilibrium, because Tim is _different._ He goes back to try and attempt with the girl again, but she's ignoring him in favor of staring at Damian with a stare that truly rivals Cass'. "Excuse me," Jenna walks up to Damian, shocking the conversations to a stop. She squints at him, and Dick watches the way his shoulders tense underneath her gaze. 

"Excuse me, but are you Mr. Damian al Ghul-Wayne?" She keeps on peering at him, before rummaging around in her pocket. A dress with pockets- definitely something Babs picked out. "I have something for you." She pulls out a folded note, waiting until Damian takes it to pull back, placing her hands primly behind her back, watching as he unfolds and reads it. 

Damian's eyes darken, anger leaking out from his frame, and Dick steps in, ready to gentle, to soothe, but he twists away. "This is a mistake," he snarls, crumpling the paper. The girl flinches, but Damian's on his phone, punching a number, his face a dark cloud. Dick is getting a feeling. "Mother what is the meaning of this?" Damian snarls.

He feels his heart thump painfully in his chest. Talia. Talia did something. All watch as Damian's face grows darker and darker as he listens to whatever she's saying before he gives his signature derisive click of his tongue, moving his phone away from his ear. 

"As I wrote, Damian,” Talia’s voice is clear as she's put on speakerphone. “I have sequestered a student for you to Mentor.” 

The teen gave a bark of laughter, making eyes travel to him. “This is ridiculous! This- this child is _Drake’s_ mistake, not-”

“That child has potential, Damian,” Her voice is cold, clear, cutting. “That child, while may be a mistake, has potential to grow from that. She will serve you well, my son.” And Talia’s voice is so proud, except for one thing. 

Tim takes the phone. 

“Talia, good to hear from you,” there’s fire underneath his cold tones. “How’s your father? Still alive and awful?”

“The Demon Head is well, Timothy,” A pause. “He misses your little games.”

“Sad. I don’t. I would like to ask you something: what the hell do you mean of Jenna being _Damian’s_ student? Because it sounds like you were saying that Damian is going to be her _mentor,_ Talia, without _my goddamn say so.”_

“That child you have has potential, potential that you would waste, fetter away," Talia is clear, cold. _"Damian_ has the proper training to raise that child _right.”_

Tim’s eyes narrow. "That child? That so-called _mistake_ that has "potential?" She is not your pawn, your tool, your whatever the hell you think she is to the League. She is my responsibility, my caring and keep, _my fucking kid_.” And the fire is coming out. “You and your League don’t get her- understand? I would gladly wipe the League off the _damn map_ before you touch her.”

Talia just gives a dry laugh. “Quaint. But I wouldn’t be throwing any threats around, Timothy. After all, it has been a recent adoption.” The words hang in the air. “And Gotham's legal system is a joke, but you already knew that, didn’t you? After all, that’s why it was so easy to adopt the child, right?”

“I mean it, Talia,” Tim hisses. **_“Do not go after her.”_ **

*

“But I can go after you.” A pause. “I can go after Red Robin, and Timothy Drake. Do you not think I have my own resources, my own men who are only loyal to me? Not only that, Drake, it would be easy to write a simple email to the press, a simple note to a Ms...Vale? I’m sure _she_ would love to hear about the adoption of Theodore Hudson Rothbauer to Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. I’m sure the press would love to see Rothbauer's little heir running around in dresses.”

It feels as if the entire area is plunged in ice. No one is moving, or breathing. Dick’s mind is whirling. Because Talia is implying that Jenna isn’t Jenna. 

No, doofus, his mind says. She’s implying that she knows Jenna is transgender. 

Oh. Jenna is _trans._

And that makes sense, doesn’t it? Goes by Jenna, hasn’t reacted at all with them using she/her pronouns, but was horrified when Dick compliment her...suit...that she probably had to wear because her parents were probably transphobic rich assholes-oh he’s a fucking _moron._ He’s just. A huge moron. 

His eyes widen as the rest of her sentence sinks in, because if Vicki Vale gets a hold of the news before Tim has a plan- She could spin this in all sorts of ways, making him out like he’s a pervert, making Jenna wear dresses, as if it was all Tim's idea. She could spin it like _Tim_ is the crazy one for supporting Jenna. Talia could even get someone to write the article and get it published in any major newspaper. How many articles were there when he was younger, speculating the “true” reason why Bruce let him live with him? How many whispers did both of them hear, on the edges, how many do they still hear? How much did Bruce’s rep take a plunge, that even now, there’s still at least _one_ tabloid article that makes “assumptions” whenever Bruce even places a hand on his shoulder in public? 

Tim’s been good. He’s been so good with his reputation, online and not, curtailing the image of the Wiz Kid, the Face of Wayne Enterprises, being the one without any skeletons in the closet. This? This could change it. 

*

One article. One viral post, and Tim would forever have a stain on his reputation, and no amount of press releases could fix that. 

This. This could be _bad._

“One email, one social media post, and I could easily have your entire life destroyed,” Talia says, making their thoughts become promises. Talia has proved over the years that she’s willing to go the distance, especially if it means helping herself or her _son._

Dick watches are Tim gets paler and paler, shaking with rage, and he opens his mouth-

The phone is taken from his hands. “Miss Talia, thank you so much for your invitation of mentorship via your son. I am truly grateful for your consideration,” and the girl’s voice is calm, surprisingly calm for a child. “However, I do have two minor points of contention: I am not, or will ever be, the heir and Theodore Hudson Rothbauer is not my name. When I was officially disowned, it meant that any claim to their estates and wealth were invalidated, along with the Parents- the Rothbauers- requesting that I also give up that name, as it is their own creative property. The name will be used to name their actual heir, once they're born. So, that name you called me isn't mine, not anymore.” And there’s satisfaction in the girl’s voice, even though what she’s saying is downright horrible. 

“Oh?” A pause. “And then what should I call you?” There’s annoyance in her voice, Dick realizes. She wasn't expecting this. She wasn't expecting Jenna to talk back. 

Jenna hums. “I’ll make it easy for you. It’s Miss Drake.” And with that, she hangs up, politely passing back the phone to Damian, who takes it wordlessly, staring at her blankly. "You hung up on my Mother," his voice is hoarse, emotionless. Dick hasn't seen him this shocked in a long time. "You. Hung up on my _Mother._ " 

She nods. “Yes,” she replies. “Because she was making Mr. Dad upset.” Damian is still staring at her as if really seeing her for the first time. To be honest, Dick is as well, because an eight year old just had the confidence to correct and hang up on _Talia al Ghul._

And she turns to her father, looking up at him. 

“I'm sorry," Tim is just staring at her. "The lady, Miss Talia- she gave me the note and said not to tell you and. You're important to me," she says sadly. "I just thought I was doing the right thing." 

Tim leans down to hug her. "That's fine Jenna, just- next time tell me, ok? Talia- the League are dangerous.” That’s an understatement. “So just, tell me next time.” She nods, and Dick knows that she probably won’t. She has that tilt in her jaw, the one he seen on all the others. 

“Why does my Mother want you?” Damian finally reboots, and that’s a very good question. Bringing ire to the al Ghul’s is one thing. Bringing _interest_ is never a good sign- Tim could easily tell you that.

The girl just shrugs again, still sticking close to Tim. “There were two ninjas that came through the window, and I knocked them out with a frying pan and a taser ‘cause they were coming through the window and they looked bad.”

“Looked Bad?” 

She nods. “Yeah, like...I don’t know, but they wanted to do something bad. So I hit them and used the taser, like Aunt Cass showed me. But then the lady- Miss Talia- showed up, and tried to stab me, but then I guess she just changed her mind?"

That prompts Bruce to speaking. “Just like that?” Bruce is looking at her, and Damian is looking exhausted; honestly working with the al Ghul's makes Dick feel that way too. “She just left, just like that?”

“Well, she left a note.” A shift. “And a threat.” That garners a look at Tim, who keeps blinking at her. “What did you say to her?”

She shrugs again, face just as doubtful as Tim’s. “All I said was that Retreats aren’t Cowardly. Then she got a distant look in her eye and changed her mind about stabbing me,” Jenna says. 

Bruce’s eyes narrow, glancing at Tim. “And you said you found her where?” Tim lifts his eyes to Bruce. “Star City.” A tense pause. “She’s not a meta, Bruce.” Bruce starts shifting away, moving his hand into his pocket. Tim’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“She needs to be observed, at least scanned,” Bruce starts pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Zatanna.”

Dick blinks, looking at the older man. “Since when do you have Zatanna’s cell phone number?” Dick asks as Tim gets in Bruce’s face in several strides. “You’re not scanning her,” Tim’s voice is hard, eyes steely. “She doesn’t like being in enclosed spaces and having surprise scans are going to upset her-”

“Tim,” And Bruce sounds so patient, as if talking to a child. “You don’t know whether she’s dangerous. For all you know she could be-”

“You can’t be serious,” Kon is looking at Bruce with a look of shocked disgust. “She’s not some sort of sleeper agent. She’s eight!”

“She managed to impress Mother,” Damian argues. “For that, she has to be something.” 

"It's Talia!" 

"Exactly," Damian growls. "It's _Talia._ " 

“She needs to be observed,” Bruce goes to the child, leans towards her, even as she leans away. “She could be dangerous.”

Tim steps in front of him. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he glares at the man. “She’s a child, _my_ child.”

"A child that you don't know. A child that you just acquired because of some impulsive choice of yours," Bruce growls. 

"A child that needed me." Tim says. "And I wouldn't be pointing fingers, Bruce." 

Bruce's eyes were slits, the background noise immediately gone, as if cut with a string. "Those were different situations and you know it." 

"Is it, Bruce? Is it different? Please, illuminate us how this is different- is it because it's not you? It is because I-”

"You were the one who came to _me,_ " And Tim's face is going still, crystalizing, which is never a good sign, it means that Tim is probably going to say something they’ll all regret, but Dick stays silent as he watches Bruce ignore it. "You came to me, saying I needed to be better, that I needed a _damn_ Robin. You listened to me, once," and Bruce’s voice is edged with anger, with desperation. "You followed me, understood what we were all trying to do- and now you ignore my advice, you go against orders, you don't listen. So what happened Tim Drake? Did you finally stop believing? Finally gave up?" He gives a mirthless smile, ignoring how Cass' lip is curled into a snarl, how there's a familiar vein in Jason's jaw that's throbbing, how everyone has gotten Bat-silent, Bat-deadly. Dick sees this all, and keeps silent, watching the white-knuckle grip Cassie has on Bart's shoulder, how Kon is keeping his eyes on Tim, on Jenna. Dick stays silent, and watches. This is not his fight, his battle. 

"You're right," Tim voices, sharp and vicious. "There was a time that I would have listened to you, tried to work with you the way you wanted things to run. But funnily enough," and the laugh he gives is anything but, "I watched and listened and stood by your side, and realized that not everything starts and ends by your creed, Bruce. There's other ideals, other options, other paths. And yes, maybe at one point, I would be twisting myself into any damn shape you wanted, because I believe in Batman. And I still do," He promises. "I believe in the Bat, in Batman, but I don't believe in just _you,_ Bruce. Not anymore," he shakes his head. "Not when there's too many lives now at stake." 

“Too many lives?” Bruce’s fists are clenched, jaw tight. " _Too many lives?_ You’re the one who adopted her, _you’re the one who hid this from-_ ”

"Do you hear yourself talk? I didn’t hide this from _anyone!_ I was trying to re-sort my life, for her, for her happiness! The world doesn’t begin and end with you! I was busy with meetings, with getting check-ups, with my own damn cases and patrol! Newsflash: I have a fucking life outside of you, Bruce! _You_ could've called! Texted, email- any of those things, B! But no, you fucked off to god knows where and go and be Batman and leave us to take care of your messes! You expect us to just wait, and wait, and still be the same when you deign that we're worthy of your presence, but life doesn't _work like that!_ " 

"That's not true!"

"Oh isn't it _Bruce?_ What _is_ the truth, or do you want to spout another lie, another mask, since you're so good at that-" 

_"You weren't supposed to leave me!"_

Tim reels back, eyes wide, shocked.

And isn't that the truth of the matter? Bruce finally, finally opened up his walls for family and it _hurts._ It's like watching his parents bleed all over again. 

There's silence. 

"What the hell does that mean?" 

Heads snap to Jason, looking angry and confused. "You aren't supposed to leave me?' _Jesus_ B, this is _why_ we fly away- the abandonment issues you have could fill up the entire Cave. Tim isn't owned by you, or anyone else. He's his own man. And you saying he can't leave just proves that you don't see him that." 

"I see him as a person," Bruce snaps. 

"No, you don't," Jason shakes his head. "I said _man._ You still see your baby obedient Robin, coming to help with his camera and photographs. You still see us as _kids._ But we aren't kids, Bruce. We stopped when we put on the cape and ran beside you. We stopped maybe before that- but you didn't help matters, you just...expedited them. And yeah, B, you do expect us to be the same damn kids and we're just not. I get it, it's… was pretty shitty to find out that Tim went and fostered and adopted Jenna, and didn't really tell anyone, but it's not like anyone here was knocking down his door every fucking day, right? How many of us can say that we've been hanging outside the mask?"

And the guilty shuffles, the turning of heads, just proves that. Dick couldn't remember the last time he saw face to face with Tim. He has memories of Damian, of Jason, of Bruce, of nearly everyone but-

Tim. He has the voicemails and texts to keep updated, but visiting has fallen by the wayside. 

"Yeah, I thought so," Jason was grimly satisfied. "Fuck knows I'm part of that group, I found out by pure chance, and it wasn't Tim's fault. Tim doesn't owe me or anyone in this room a goddamn reason or explanation why he adopted Chickadee, except for maybe like, seven people. But the main thing we all need to see is that he’s probably one of the few here that _could._ He has a stable job, his mental state has been pretty okay, he’s not going on any off-world missions any time soon, he has support outside of the Bats- and Tim fucking adores that little girl just as she’s over the moon for him. You know what I see, when I see him and Chickadee? A family. A real family.” 

“Even still,” Bruce pulls out his phone. “We’ll have Zatanna do a scan to be sure.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steph steps forward, eyes blazing. “She’s a goddamn child, you asshole!” 

“I don’t mind,” Jenna's voice is quiet, so quiet. “If it makes it easier, I don’t mind.”

No one replies to that. 

“Well,” Dick coughs, smiling, feeling it crack in the middle, too tight on the corners. “If- She says it’s okay…” 

Jason throws up his arms. “I can’t fucking believe this. Fucking like talking to a wall.” 

“Nah,” Steph says. “Walls are nicer.” And Dick winces, cause, ouch. But they’re not the bad guys here, he looks at the glaring or impassive faces, all looking at him, B and Damian like they’re at fault. They’re not the bad guys here, right? 

He’s not failing, again, right?

_He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease, That daring young man on the flying trapeze!_

Tim’s face is hard. "She's not a meta, B."

Bruce just hums, already phoning Zatanna. "We'll see."

* * *

"No, Tim's right, she's not a meta." 

"Are you sure," Bruce asks again, glaring at Zatanna as she finishes the scan of the child. They had all retreated inside, settling into the living area and kitchen. The Kents have already left, citing early mornings and an emergency Clark heard people call for Superman. Tim’s Friends- the “Core Three” had also left, comms picking up an emergency and even though they lingered, Kon-el especially, they still went to do their duty. Dick had finally lost that skittish look, although the rest of the present company were various states of annoyance and worry. Bruce shifts, ignoring the glare that Tim (and Kate, and Alfred, and Jason, and Cass and-) were throwing his way, there were other important things to worry about. "She could be-"

The woman gestures to the girl currently in a magic circle, who’s steadily getting a distressed look upon her face from being placed- _trapped,_ that same dark voice supplied- there. "Bruce, I’ve ran three different scans, one of which is just the portal machine that Vic made, and I can easily tell you that she's not a meta, _Homo Magnus,_ demi-goddess or demi-god, robot, clone, alien, speedster, time traveler, any type of Lantern, _or_ a ghost - she's from Earth and fully human." Zatanna pauses. "She's a smart, independent kid, with a good portion of what makes a Bat." She stretches, popping the cricks out of her neck. “I got a name- does Lenore ring any bells?”

“Lenore Rothbauer, nee Clemonts,” Kate’s- no, _Batwoman’s_ voice came beside him, as the _Homo Magnus_ continued to pack up. “Biologically her maternal donor.” 

“You mean mother,” he murmurs, but pauses as Batwoman gives him her trademark glare. Even without the cowl, staring into those eyes- Bruce resisted the urge to take a step back. 

"I meant what I said," Batwoman replies, as Zatanna murmurs her goodbyes, brushing him off to stand by Tim's side, and then it's Tim, Tim is in his face, glaring, cold (but hot, hot underneath, he's always had that flame, that fire that brings a sense of wildness when he loses his patience-)

He knows how to soothe, how to calm those flames down, once. He knew once, what to say to calm down the Drake fire. He's Batman. He can do this. 

"We need more tests." His mouth betrays him. 

"No. We're done," the young man snarls in his face. "Do you hear me? _We're done._ I've played your little games. But you're not going to distress Jenna to please your paranoia, you inconsiderate _jackass_. You don't get to prod and poke at her until you're _fucking_ satisfied, Bruce. She's a normal human being and as I told Talia, I'll fucking tell you: _She's my responsibility, so you don't get her._ I have given you everything up to you so far- I gave you my youth, my blood, my patience, and my fucking spleen, but this is the _fucking_ line, Bruce. You don't get her. **_I won't let you._ **" 

"It's okay," a small voice breaks through. "It's okay, I can give myself up. Please don't be mad at him."

And Bruce- Bruce watches as the girl, still shaking, eyes flitting to corners, to stand between him and Tim. 

"It's okay," she's keeping her voice calm, soothing. "It's okay, I can be his instead of Mr. Dad’s. I'm used to this." 

"Jenna-" Tim's paling, but an oval face is peering up at him, looking at him. 

"Hi," she starts. "I'm Jenna Janet Drake. It's not my government name, not yet, but it's my real one. I'm Mr. Dad's apprentice. And I'm doing a very good job, as Mr. Dad says."

Bruce does nothing but stare, mind slowing to a halt. "Apprentice?" The word is unfamiliar here But she nods. "Yes," she replies, "Mr. Dad's apprentice. It's a strange apprenticeship, but I'm enjoying it immensely." 

"I," he swallows. "I don't understand." He doesn't. He doesn't understand what she wants from him, what she's expecting to do. He doesn’t understand why Tim is so adamant about this girl. He doesn’t understand when Tim- 

She cocks her head. "Well, As part of my apprenticeship, It's my job to learn how to be the best worker for Mr. Dad. For example, I get up and set the dishware for breakfast and I start the coffee and make toast and help gather Mr. Dad's papers for work. Then I have breakfast with Mr. Dad and I clean up and get myself ready for the day, independently. And Mr. Dad is really nice, cause he lets me have Lessons and gives me Rewards at the end of the day. And all I have to do is things like Behave, and help maintain a Good Reputation for the Drake Name. So I can be that for you, if you need to. I can also just sit and stay very still- but um, I'm still working on staying still in containers, sorry. I can do all sorts of other things though, that Mr. Dad hasn't asked me to do- but you can, if you want." 

"Why hasn't he asked you?" He feels the glares, the accusations in people's eyes, but his mind is feeling over her words. There's implications there, the apology of being distressed of being trapped- and that's what he did, didn't he?- to the implications of "other things." 

"Well," she says. "I don't know. But I can do all sorts of things that the Parents trained me, like I can cook on the stove, and clean, and organize, and I can type really well, and I barely can misspell a word, and I have Elite Manners, and also speciality skills, such as Networking, and a High Pain Tolerance. I don't flinch at all anymore for getting slapped or hit. So please don't get upset at Mr. Dad; if you need a Tool, I can be that for you, Mr. Batman." There's pride in her voice, and a quiet, pleading desperation that's making him all cold inside. 

"I'm not Batman." It's automatic, and a little ridiculous, but he feels overwhelmed and reeling, because he failed, somewhere, somewhere he failed because there's _implications_ that she's good at being someone's punching bag, someone's servant, that she's saying she'll be those things for him, just to make him and Tim happy. She's speaking words that she thinks will help, and Bruce, feels like a failure. 

Unfortunately, she just squints at him. "You're not as good as lying as you think you are. You're definitely Batman." And she pats his hand, as if to comfort him. "It's okay. Mother trained me in lying correctly, I can show you if you want." 

"No that's- fine. That's fine," he hears his voice say, distant, he feels himself slip away, Batman taking his place. "Go back to- what did you mean by tool?" Things are connecting in his brain, disgust and horror are filling up inside him, chilling his being. It's starting to make sense what Zatanna was implying.

He remembers Lenore, vaguely. Lenore- she’s from Old Money- old ways, old traditions. He only met her a handful of times- she was intelligent, charming, eloquent, and something about her just completely put him on edge. There was something about her that made his hackles want to rise, even when everyone spoke only praises about her. She's also unnervingly observant- it was a parlor trick she used, one that made people murmur how considerate she was, and made him prickle with worry because he might have not applied the makeup well, or made her wonder why Bruce Wayne was wearing makeup at all. Warren Rothbauer was somewhat of an unknown entity- unsurprising, as he married into Status, ran a company that may have him as CEO, but it was originally backed by his father-in-law’s money, the board either friends of his father-in-law or his wife. He could handle his own in the boardroom, but Bruce never really had a conversation with Warren- he was always plastered by his wife's side. 

Jenna’s staring at him, much like Cass’ stare, much like Lenore’s stare and- 

Lenore always knew everything, that was the rumor that always floated around, in Galas, in Charity Events. Lenore _knew_ everything. Fingers on every pulse, every little thing, from insider trading to who's screwing who. Lucius had mentioned how she always knew things. Things that she _shouldn't_ have known, not just as a corporate attorney, even one of her status. The Rothbauers have been investigated for insider trading, for corporate spying, and nothing has ever come up, nothing was proven.

Because everyone was looking in the wrong direction.

No one ever guesses a child. 

It hits him, sudden and shocking. That's what's unsettling him, he realizes. Not only because of the whole family issues, the implication that she’s used to being hit, oh _god_ how that turns his stomach, but she looks at him like a _Bat,_ a detective already. She’s observing and categorizing everything, down to the minute detail. She can already read his microexpressions, inflections, reads them as good as Cass, he bets, and can even put it into sentences, phrases. She can _read_ him, easy as a book. This child was abused, obviously, but not only that, this child was _trained._ It's in her posture, her movements. It's in the way she keeps those green eyes on his face. She's been trained. 

“Well,” she starts, looking up with green, green eyes. “To be a Tool is to be good at Networking, to help out the Company and the Family by finding and distributing information, especially to gain allies or marks. Mother trained me to be good at Networking, that as a Replaceable it’s my obligation to do everything I can for the Company or the Family. If I’m good at Networking, I get Rewards, especially when I find marks. If I’m bad, I get Punishments.” And Bruce can hear the seriousness of Reward/Punishments, can hear the capital letters. His hands clench. She continues. “I mean, that’s my place. I’m meant to be good at Networking, it’s a life skill the Parents taught me, since I’m so wrong.”

“How on earth are you wrong?” Damian is standing, a frown on his face, but his eyes thoughtful, thinking.

The girl shrugs. “A lot of things. 'Too many to list' is what the Parents said. But it's because I'm wrong means I'm a Replaceable. That’s what it means to be one- we’re to stand-in and help the Family until the True Child comes along, and then we need to be discarded.” She's not even _sad_ , just matter-of-fact. “They told me the last time they were in Star City, when I lived at their place, that I would be let go. I was worried, because they were going to put me In The System, and Bad People hurt Replaceables that were In The System, and I’ve read articles, but,” And here she glances back at Tim, a smile on her face. “Mr. Red Robin, _Mr. Dad_ came to Star City. Which is a big deal, since everyone knows that Bats sometimes leave Gotham, and they have assistants- I mean what else you would call Robin, right? And I kept researching and researching and I figured,” she hesitates. "If _Batman_ could have an assistant, then maybe…" she looks up at Tim.

Bruce swallows, his chest becoming cold. 

“So I wrote a resume, and I feel bad that I don’t really have any true training, but- then!” Her voice goes bright. “Mr. Dad came to my balcony and knew my _actual name,_ and read my resume, and I’m maybe not an assistant but this apprenticeship is so much better.” She beams at Tim. “It’s the best thing in the world. Did you know that he gave me a resume to be my Mr. Dad?” She keeps looking at Tim, looking as if he created all the stars in the sky. “I have a Mr. Dad, and _help_ him, and learn from _him._ I get my own home, and there’s food that I don’t have to pay for or Network for, and I have my own bedroom just the way I want it. I also get to learn how to be a Bat. It’s the best thing in the world that I couldn’t even imagine. I’m so lucky to be here. I don’t ever want to leave.” 

“Why would you leave?” And Tim. Tim is so quiet, so gentle. There’s tears in his eyes, the blue irises becoming pale glass, much like Mom’s old favorite summer glassware, the special pale blue highball glasses that she usually drank lemonade from. 

Jenna turns her head towards him, frowning as she notices the tears in his eyes. “Well, it’s an apprenticeship, I have to leave eventually,” she laughs. But Tim is shaking his head. 

“Jenna, it’s- I said that because…” Tim closes his mouth, looking helplessly at Jenna, and she gets it. 

“I- you lied?” It’s said so soft, so small, that Bruce’s heart twists, especially when Jenna leans back, back away from Tim. Tim shrugs, albeit a bit helplessly. 

“I lied because when I said “fostering” you assumed I wanted you for your organs,” Tim replies, “And I don’t.”

“But, you’re Red Robin,” she’s frowning. “You didn’t- you didn’t need me. I- that’s what this was, an apprenticeship, because I couldn’t do the assistant job, I’m not _enough._ You don’t need me.”

She's speaking, Bruce thinks, like this is a job. A career. She's speaking as if Tim permits her to live in his life on the edges, when evidence is showing that he's changed so much for her. 

But she just knows Red Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne, and even those are sketches. She doesn’t know Tim-as-Robin, or Tim-Drake-from-next-door. She doesn’t know how bright he was, how sharp he got. Already he's softer, softer than he was when he was young. He's working hard on being a parent. 

Bruce is hit with an ache, so sudden and familiar. He wishes his parents were here one more time. He wishes he could ask, beg advice from his father, his mother about this. His mother would be over the moon at great-grandkids, so excited for a great-granddaughter, especially one that has-

 _God,_ her hair is like hers. It’s the same color as his mother’s. His mother’s was straighter, the girl’s more wavier, but still, that's the same color used to see tied up in her updos, spilling down her back as she played the piano. Her face is oval to his mother's heart-shaped face, the nose grecian, compared to Mom's button nose. And yet- she reminds him of his Mom. Or maybe- she reminds him of what he used to have. 

“You’re right, I didn’t need you then,” Tim admits, “But I wanted to protect you. I wanted to learn more about the little girl who gave me a resume. I wanted to learn about that girl, and you know what? She’s _wonderful._ She’s smart, kind, determined, and very self-sufficient. She loves singing tunes at breakfast, and watching Star Trek, and her favorite princess is Rapunzel. She makes me smile,” he says, reaching out for her hand. “By just being her. I didn’t _need_ her,” his fingers are covering hers. “But I definitely _want_ you in my life. I love you, Jennabird.” 

She freezes, looking at him. "What?"

Tim looks at her. "You do know I love you, right?" She’s not looking at him, or anyone, just staring at the ground. 

“I’m. Tools aren’t.” It’s almost as if she’s malfunctioning, blinking rapidly as her head tilts in a confused manner. “I’m grateful for your patronage,” she says, head jerking up. “I’ll do my work no matter what, you don’t- you don’t have to force yourself to be- I’ll be good no matter what, I’m a Replaceable.” 

Tim just smiles, bright and hard, even as a couple of tears roll down his cheek. “Jenna, when I asked to be your “Mr. Dad” it wasn’t due to just- business," he gives a wave at the word business, as if to banish it away. “I came to know the kind, stubborn, amazing little girl who’s compassionate to others, and tries to do the right thing. Even if she didn’t cook, or clean, or want to be my assistant, or Tool, or whatever term is used, I would still want you to be my _daughter._ ” He brushes aside some of her hair, her face unmoving, emotionless. No one else says a word. "No matter what, I would've wanted to have you stay with me, because you're truly an amazing little girl, and you make my life better with you in it. You make me better by just being you, Jenna. I already love you so much." He’s looking at her fully now. “You know why we went to the courthouse?”

“...Paperwork?” There’s a stunned look on her face. 

Tim nudges her, his smile turning into a mischievous one, and oh, Bruce knows that smile, he used to see that smile directed at him, Bruce used to _get_ that smile. "Hey Jennabird, you wanna hear something amazing?" She nods. "We went so I could adopt you. Congratulations, you get to stay here with me forever." 

She is frozen. They watch as she takes his words, slowly lets the meaning and _weight_ settle in her mind.

"I thought this state is an at-will state?" She’s still on that apprenticeship. Tim doesn’t seem to mind, only gives a slight shrug. "Special circumstances," Tim says, giving her a half smile. "Congratulations, you're hired, full time, permanent position, for the rest of your life." 

Silence. She looks like a robot, or a photograph, title: a still shot of a little girl, materials: little girl, air, the fact that she can be loved.

"This is permanent?" She's looking at Tim. "This- you can't- this is _permanent?_ " There's a tremor in her voice. "You want me to stay?" Her voice was so small, so hopeful. As if she never hoped for this, Bruce realizes. As if she never expected to be loved. And Bruce knows- he was once loved by two amazing parents, still loved by a man he came to know as a third parent, mother and father in one. He’s felt the pain of having that love ripped away from you, or even the potential of having it ripped away (how many times did his heart live in his throat at the thought of Alfred getting-) and to see a child, a small, tiny child, realize that she can be _loved-_

"That's why we went to the courtroom, so I could adopt you." Tim's voice was gentle, matter of fact. "I'm legally your guardian. Your _parent._ It's a law-binding contract." Tim's eyes are wistful. "If you want to." _Be my child,_ went unsaid. 

"But do you want me?" She repeats. "You want me to stay. With you." 

Tim pauses. 

"I do." And the young man takes her hands in his, looks her dead in the eye. "I want you to stay with me, Jenna. I would be honored, if you let me call you my daughter, if I can be just, _Dad,_ to you."

"You," she swallows, "You want to be my Dad?" And oh, this, this is what everyone is seeing: her eyes shocked, open, something akin to wonder, something closer to pure love, filling in those green eyes. 

"I would _love_ to be your Dad, Jenna," Tim’s beaming and she didn't burst into tears as it was just a sudden change: she was fine one second, and then a river is streaming down her face. Alarm flew to Tim's face but she had already launched herself at him, holding him tight as she shoved her head against his neck. 

"You okay Jenna?" He clasps a hand against her back, his voice a little choked from her basically headbutting him in the throat. That didn't look comfortable. 

"You want me to stay," she sobs. "You want me to _stay_." She was shaking in his arms. "You- you _love me. You chose_ ** _me._** _"_

And Tim's face-

"Jenna I need you to listen," he hisses, holding her close. "And never forget these words: _I love you,_ and I will _always want you as my daughter._ I will always want you to stay. No matter what, you are _never_ ," Damian never heard Drake sound like this, something this sharp. "Going to make me stop loving you, Jenna. Not Batman, not Superman, not even an apocalypse will make me stop. Nothing will _ever_ make me stop loving you, choosing you, or wanting you to _stay_." She sobs harder, shoving her head into his neck some more, and even though that can't be a comfortable hug, Drake didn't react. And a part of Damian’s chest is unsettled, hearing those hissed words. One would think Jenna would be scared, frightened, at the tone of voice, sharp and hissed, but if anything, the intensity somehow made her relieved, curling closer into his embrace. 

He loves her, Bruce realizes. He loves her already, he understands the roar, the readiness to destroy worlds, cross planes, do anything to keep her close to him. And Bruce, he wants to scream, he's terrified, his children shouldn't understand, not yet, but there's that same surety and steadiness in Tim's eyes, the same way Tim found him in the time stream, the same way Tim kept coming back and back again. And Tim- 

Tim is an adult. He's not Bruce's responsibility, not anymore. The man runs his company and he leads his own missions- his own life, carved around meetings and tech and plans, and now a child. He's not the little stubborn kid, the one balancing a life between civilian and Bat. He's an adult, and looking at them both, Bruce realizes that he's a _parent._ A parent that loves their child and _learned_ to be a parent instead of fumbling in the dark and in the shadows. Already he's keeping himself open, making himself gentle, when Bruce knew him as the analytical young man, the one that rarely held back his harsh words. He observes the townhouse, once generic, a mere facade to help build Timothy Wayne, now looking lived in. Here’s the bookshelves of having titles of childcare, cooking books, various classics that Jason likes. Here’s the comfortable sofa and chairs with worn, well-loved pillows, some in a familiar purple, a blanket in a familiar yellow. Here’s small trinkets from tiny porcelain cats to various roadside trinkets, all carefully placed by a delicate yet lethal hand. Here’s actual pictures, photographs of landscapes, of Gotham. And through the doorway he can see the kitchen, with Kate’s favorite coat on a chair, the fridge with the many (new) magnets and pieces of papers that look to be schedules, calendars, reminders. 

Bruce is surrounded in a house that holds memories of nearly everyone he loves, and there's none of him. He's in Tim's house, and there's nothing of him. Somewhere along the way, Bruce let him go, and before he could realize, before he could turn around and realize his mistake-

Tim had followed a different path without him. 

He loves her, Dick realizes. He loves her already, didn't need proof or skill or even time. And that's- Tim has always been the one for proof, for evidence. He loves talking, he could talk your ear off, but if there is one thing that Dick had fucked up, the one thing that Dick had forgotten and it cost him, was that Tim believes in the proof of actions, not words. Words were easily said. Tim trusts the actions, and isn't this a prime example. For Tim hadn't told him, hadn't told Bruce, hadn't told Damian. The others may have found out by accident, but they didn't say anything as well- there was a line, a clear line. And Tim didn't even draw the line. 

No, they did- he doesn’t want to remember, but they did. All three of them drew a line in the ground and said “this is us and that is them.” How many outings were just the three of them? How many cases? Missions? Maybe others would come and go, but it really was Bruce, Dick, and Damian. And it was their actions, that proved it. They had chosen a side, and Tim, _classic_ Tim, maintained that distance, maintained the status quo because that’s what he knew. He didn’t know them, not anymore. But he knew that Dick would choose Bruce and Damian, Damian would choose him and Bruce, and Bruce, the Mission, over anything and everything else, before considering Tim. This girl chose to be with Tim.

 _Of course_ Tim is going to protect that. This girl chose to be with him, so Tim would choose her over Damian. Tim would choose her over Dick. Tim would choose her over Bruce, because the girl chose opened up her arms and made him a space big and wide enough for Tim to _be,_ not shoved off into the sidelines or in small, paltry spaces. _God,_ when was the last time Dick actually hugged his brother? He wants to call Tim out, that he's being selfish, that he's being cruel to admit that he loves this girl, but all he can think is that Tim is acting way more like a father than Bruce did at that age. How he misses his parents' warm hugs, the pride and love in their eyes as they would gaze down on him. 

And Dick knows his words are just mere bitterness. 

It's yearning, Damian realizes. Drake loves her and it's automatic. She did not fight to be at his side, she did not have to prove herself to him. She may have thought she had to, had to keep working for her place, but the words Tim just hissed are hints that even if she didn't, even if she was just a child, he would love her. He had no blood connection, no biological ties, and yet he had fought to have her stay. And Damian-Damian _knew_ that Drake would have done an extensive reconasannice on her, it's in his nature. Checked into her family life, her background, everything, for even if someone from a multiverse said one thing, it didn't mean it was the same in the other universe. He had to have checked and staked out because she's right in front of them. She said all of those things, about being replaceable, about being wrong and-

Damian knows. Damian knows that if she had been unceremoniously dumped onto Drake's doorstep, like he was to Father, that it would've gone different, he sees that. She wouldn't have to fight. Already Drake is softening his sharp edges, harsh hands becoming gentle. Already she's been given patience where he would have snapped before. Already there's a clear difference between _Father_ and _Mr. Dad,_ as evidence of the clear adoration in her eyes. 

Father may have fought Darkseid to bring him back, but Jenna didn't have to fight for Mr. Dad to love her.

They all realize-

They're being left behind. It's from the way Jason gives her easy smiles. It's the way Cass touches her shoulder, giving her smiles. It’s the way Steph had guided her away, kept herself visible for Jenna to see, the way Babs is glaring at the three of them, fury in her eyes, Duke standing silent against Cass’ shoulder, eyes focused as if for battle. It's from the way even Alfred and Kate stand in the group, and not beside _them._ It's how- 

Everyone is building bridges, paths, to this little girl, to this new, softer, intense Tim. To the one who hisses promises like threats and keeps hands that have destroyed (can destroy, will destroy) civilizations, gentle and soft for a tear-stained cheek. 

It reminds Damian of what a mythical dragon would be like with his hatchling. 

It reminds Dick of the first hug Bruce gave him, the last time his parents held him. 

It reminds Bruce of what he's missed. 

They have a choice, right now. They have a choice to accept, to be welcomed- or to step back, away from the scene, back into the shadows. They have one chance to make a decision. 

They have a choice. 

Damian steps forward. 

Immediately the girl attempts to clear her face, Drake freezing, staring warily at him. He pays them no mind, or how both Harpers hands are twitching, wanting to grab and notch arrows into bows, how the Rows are leaning in, how both Todd and Brown shift themselves into a more readying stance, how nearly all of them ready themselves, pause their movements. They’re expecting him to challenge her, to try and hurt her, a voice whispers, and bitterly he realizes that history proves them right. 

He crouches down instead, peering close at the girl. 

“I- apologies,” she sniffs, still wiping hastily at her cheeks. “It’s- been a long day.” 

“It has been an auspicious one,” Damian agrees, and he could see how Harpers and Todd are staring as if he grew a second head. He ignores them. “I am Hafid al Ghul, Ibn al Xu-ffasch, but you may know me as Damian al Ghul Wayne, blood son of Batman, current holder of Robin, and,” and here he pauses. “Even though I do not appreciate my Mother's interference, I would be your Mentor, if you would accept.” He waits. 

She takes her time, weighing his words before measuring out her own. “If I accept, will you make sure your- the woman, Talia, doesn’t hurt Mr.- my Dad,” she falters on the last, but there is strength behind those words, a sense of protectiveness. 

He raises a brow, curious. “And if I said no?”

She gives a bow, eyes reflecting no emotion, still red-rimmed. “Then I would say Thank you very much for your offer, Mr. Hafid al Ghul, Ibn al Xu-ffasch, Damian al Ghul Wayne, but I must decline.” 

The other brow joins his brother. “You decline on that principle? Why?”

She hums, again measuring out her words before freeing her voice. “I never thought- a Dad is Special,” she says. “A _True_ Dad tucks you in at night and holds your hand when you need or want, hugs you and calls you terms of endearment. A True Dad protects and shelters you, teaches you things and helps you grow. A True Dad loves you, your true you, not for how others perceive you. It’s unconditional.” And here she looks up at him, and oh, there is _fire_ in her eyes. 

“He,” here she points at Drake, “Just said that he’s going to be my Dad, that he wants to be my _True Dad._ And I,” she points at herself, “Am going to make sure that stays forever, or until we’re really, really older, like older than Mr. Alfred,” she levels Damian with a look, green eyes cutting, determined. “And if you’re not going to help me protect him, then no, I don’t want your mentorship, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne. I will be just fine without it.”

“And if she comes back?” Damian asks. "After all, she did threaten Red Robin." And it's his Mother. He’d spent his childhood listening to her cadence, her tones, her rhythms. There was something in her voice this time, he noticed, something that made it clear that this time, his Grandfather would not be able to distract her away from her goals, mysterious as they may be. 

The girl stops, thinks. 

“I’m not scared of her,” she eventually says, very matter-of-fact. “I’m scared of what she can do, but I’m not scared of _her._ And if she comes back, then I will deal with her when I cross that bridge. And I will say to her as I will say to you now.” She looks at him and there’s- 

There is a fierce glare on her face, her green eyes filled with fury; frigid, _protective_ fury, her mouth curling into a snarl, showing a pointed canine, bared teeth. Damian marvels at the anger directed to him, that would be directed towards his _Mother,_ as she hisses with cold rage, in accented, but grammatically correct Arabic: 

_“Back off. He’s_ **_mine_** _.”_

Everyone takes a step back. 

Damian blinks, unmoving as he tilts his head and nods. 

“Such viciousness,” he says, fluidly standing up. “You would fight my Mother, wouldn’t you? Idiotic, but impressive,” he gives her a smirk as Jenna leans back, shoulders slightly hunching in, wary at his reaction, but still there’s fire in her eyes, a glint of a snarl on her mouth. No, Damian muses, She’s not a Drake in the sense of a duck, much like he mocks Tim for- this little one takes after the _other_ meaning of her surname. “You hide your fire and teeth very well, Little Dragon," his eyes flick over to her father. “I will be taking over her training, of course.”

“Wait,” Jenna starts as Drake narrows his eyes, moving to his feet with grace. “It’s you and Cass, or it’s no one at all.” And that. That is surprising. 

That got some reactions. “Tim-”

Drake holds up a hand, still looking at him. “Damian, you and I don’t see eye-to-eye on a plethora of things, but one thing we can agree on, is your skill. And as much as I don’t want to agree to Talia’s demands…” he sucks on his teeth. 

We know how to survive, Damian thinks, eyes flicking over to the woman who understands his background better than anyone else in this family. We know how to kill, how to ruin, if it comes down to that. 

For Dick had taught him kindness, yes. This family had taught him kindness and compassion. This isn't what the girl needed from _him._ She needs to be able to protect her loved ones, from his Mother, from the world. She needs strength, to be able to fight. She can learn compassion and how to be soft from anyone else, but from _him,_ she would learn how to properly survive being a Bat, how to be feared and vicious. She’s been trained, yes- he isn’t deaf, and while everyone else looked stricken at her words- he understands now, what his Mother saw. A trained combatness, an unwavering loyalty and devotion. She is used to the cruelty of Parenthood, having your worth be measured and metered by the ones who say they do it for an abstraction called 'love.' And- 

Damian is growing. Already he’s feeling the chafe of Robin, feeling it constrain around him. He’s ready to move on into a new identity, a new mantle, a cowl. Already Father mentioned maybe Damian wearing the cowl, Grayson happy in Nightwing, gladly stepping away from the Batman mantle. He’s eager. He’s ready. But it would mean giving up the R, leaving a hole in Gotham’s nights. 

This one, with a disgruntled look on her face and her eyes flashing fiercely, this one may suit that hole. 

"We will begin training at dawn," he says, whirling on his heel. He pauses when he hears a snort. "We will begin, when I agree to the terms, _Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne._ " It's said with such iciness, that the room symbolically drops in temperature. 

Now he understands why she has the name Janet, Bruce thinks wildly. He remembers the woman ever so often, when he had the misfortune of not just letting Lucius handle the Drake Industries’ CFO. And the thing is- Bruce knew how to handle Janet, _Tim_ knew how to handle Janet. 

Damian, does not. 

"Excuse me," he says, whirling to her. "But as your Mentor-"

"I distinctly remember Mr.- my _Dad_ saying that it would be you _and_ Aunt Cass, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne," she says. "Also, I also remember that you did not answer my question, rather you posed a hypothetical to test my resolve." 

"I would assume-"

"Assuming makes you a fool, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne." She pauses as Damian sputters, eyes blinking in outrage. "As such, I am unavailable tomorrow, as I have made prior arrangements." 

_"Unavailable-"_

"If you would like, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne, you can I can discuss this…" her eyes flick up and down, face never changing "-Mentorship at a later date. I will need to get my planner and see my earliest available times, of course." 

"You are eight," Damian says. "Why the _hell_ do you have a planner?" 

She sniffs. "Unlike you, I try and not let myself be idle, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne. A worldly person mustn't just concern themselves with just one subject. Even a vagabond has outside interests." Bruce sees Jason shove his face into Roy’s shoulder, muffling his chuckles as Damian continues to get worked up. 

"I do not-! This was a mistake. This was a mistake, I'm calling Mother back." Damian starts to stomp off and it’s only a clearing of a throat that makes him pause. "What a surprise,” came a familiar drawl, and oh, _no._

"...What did you say, Drake?" Damian growls, head swiveling to watch as Tim rolls his eyes with a sniff, and oh, Bruce can see where this is heading. He’s watched Tim in the boardroom too many times to not see where this is heading. 

Blue eyes meet green. "What a surprise, not even a moment, and already you realize you can't handle being her mentor." Tim pats Jenna's arm. "Aunt Cass would gladly be your mentor, sweetling." 

Faintly, he hears Kate mouth the word "sweetling" with confusion. That’s a term that probably never used before, but Jenna is following her father’s act with aplomb. "What are they doing?" Dick hisses to him, watching both father and daughter rile up Damian with icy and honey coated words. "Wait-They're not."

"They are," he whispers back. "They are." 

Damian had assumed that because of Talia's influence, Tim would roll over, Bruce thinks. The problem has always been that while Damian is technically stronger, and had a more advanced skill set than Tim, Tim was raised by Gotham's elites and streets, used to using words rather than swords, patience over punches. Tim also had never appreciated being considered “lesser” or having to bend to others will- which made him a great partner, a fierce leader both in a Mask and the Corporate scene, and an exhausting son. And Damian, even now, still held onto that part of him, that part that made Jason mockingly call him "Prince Brat."

"I am an Al Ghul!" And the explosion happened as expected. "I have been raised by the elite of elites. Proven myself over and over, time again-"

"So you _can_ Mentor her?" Tim really wasn't letting up. 

"Of course I can!" Damian snaps. "I am _Robin,_ for fuck's sake-"

"Wonderful, then you agree to let you and Cass take the lead of her training, giving me weekly lessons and training plans for me to review, along with picking up any extra sitter shifts that the others can't do," Tim claps his hands together. "And of course, as her Mentor, you'll be watching her whenever I'm gone on off-world missions with Young Justice, along with taking the necessary classes in Pediatric First Aid and CPR- because it’s still different than Bat First Aid, Damian. She’s still a child." 

Both Damian and Jenna were staring at Tim, eyes wide and mouths open. 

"Now wait just a-"

"Wait, I didn't say he could-"

"Jenna, you'll be fine." He smiles at her, brief and soft, before looking at Damian. "Meet me in the office on Tuesday at around 9:40am. I'll have the contract to sign and we'll be set." 

"Contract? Why the hell would I need a-"

"Damian, you're seriously going to assume I'm not going to have you sign a contract? Of course there’s a contract- she’s my _daughter._ Don't worry, I know how to work these things. If you want, we can even do a blood signature, for familiarity.” 

“Don’t mock me, Drake,” Damian spits as Jenna overlaps with, "But I didn't say-" 

"Jenna, I promise, he'll be a good Mentor. You can trust him,” Tim says and Jenna just looks at him, brows furrowed. "But why can't it be you?" she asks plaintively. Tim's eyes soften. "Some things shouldn't be taught by a Dad, Jennabird." 

"Tt. I am a superior mentor as well," Damian huffs, crossing his arms, and Dick wonders if Damian would ever stop trying to kick the metaphorical hornet’s nest, because if there’s something that’s becoming obvious, is that a _confident_ Jenna is a quick-witted Jenna. She proves his point as she whirls to Damian. "Oh really? Then where's the references, recommendations? Do you have a cover letter? A resume? A portfolio? Who was your original mentor?"

And Damian blusters. "I- I studied under the finest teachers-"

"References." 

"What?" 

"References. Ref-fer-ehn-ces. Where are they? Because what I'm hearing is you blowing smoke up your own butt. Which is a pretty amazing feat already, I'll grant you that. But what are your skill sets?" Bruce hears Dick choking at her words, Lian already wheezing with laughter, and he's grudgingly impressed as well. He's more worried though, about the color Damian's turning. 

"I'm _Robin!_ "

"And so was he, and he, and her, and he," and she goes on to point out every single Robin, current and old, in the room. "That's not enough. What do you, Mr. Al Ghul-Wayne, bring to the table? Why should I also go with you, when I can easily go with Aunt Cass or even Aunt Kate?" 

" _Kate_ doesn't train Robins!" Damian's voice was getting an edge of hysteria, already an octave higher. This is derailing fast- Damian isn't used to others being a little shit towards him, Dick thinks, biting his lip as to ward off the smirk on his face. Robin is used to being one, but dealing with other little shits is a skill set that he's currently lacking. But it is hilarious.

“Enough,” Tim raises his hands at both of them. “Damian, there will be a contract for you to sign on Tuesday. Bring your legal US ID. Jenna, Damian is going to be one of your Mentors, and you have to respect that Damian is going to train you. The hows and whys will be discussed, but, you will be able to at minimum, have a strong proficiency over self-defense and some sort of weapon. Non-lethal preferrable.” 

She hesitates. "...Is this because of Ms. Tamara?" And there’s a story in _that,_ Dick muses. He sees Luke snort at that statement, and makes a note to maybe convince Luke for a beer to wrangle out the story- if only to gather information about this newest family member. And it’s been a while since he’s spoken to the eldest Fox; last time he heard Luke was working on a pretty sweet mod to a V-engine that sounds really interesting. 

Tim pats her cheek. “Sort of. But it’s for the best you learn how to fight, especially in this family.” He gives her a bittersweet smile. “No matter if you don’t become one of us, you need to be able to protect yourself. I wish I could say I would always protect you but-”

“It’s okay,” she leans into his hand. “I understand. I trust you.” 

“Well that’s wrong.” Damian waves a hand as twin glares are directed at him. “I mean about the Robin issue. Of course she’s going to be Robin. She’s going to be my student, and thus, will take on the mantle of Robin when she is older.” 

And that caused everyone to start talking, voices overlapping as all of the Bats started to voice their own opinion about the subject, which is just like them, Damian thinks as he rolls his eyes at Brown and Todd starts gesturing on why he can’t do what he’s doing. As if he needs their reasoning. He’s Damian al Ghul Wayne. He sighs, snapping his fingers. “Grayson,” Grayson blinks as he turns to him, the room becoming silent. “Did we not agree that Robin is mine to dispense with as I see fit?”

“Uh,” Grayson shifts, eyes trying to avoid the glares directed his way. “I mean, technically…”

Damian merely scoffs. “Is there not a video recording? Did we not agree upon this, as while it is a reminder of your days with your parents, it has become something bigger, and as such you were more than willing to part it, to pass it as I could give the mantle to whoever I see fit?”

“I mean _yes,_ Damian, we did but-” The truth of it, they did, and there _was_ a video recording. It was after a rough case back in Cali, where B and Damian had exchanged words, almost exchanged blows, and while B flitted off to...somewhere, Damian had sought him out, tears running down his cheeks. He’d felt like a failure, he admitted, He felt like a failed Robin, a sham. And Dick- Dick wanted to make his brother feel better, so yeah, he did say that Damian’s was his and his to do as he pleased, and yes, it has become bigger than what he expected, that the name has been used over and over, to the point that it was just another happy faded memory, another thing of his used by others. Yeah there was a video of him confirming that, but he never thought. He thought it would _end_ with _Damian._

“See,” Damian turns back, pleased. “As such, I, Damian al Ghul-Wayne, Son of the Bat, current Robin, will be the Mentor of Jenna Janet Drake-Wayne, the successor to the honor of Robin.” 

Silence. 

“Why?” Jenna asks, eyes wide. Damian stares at her. 

"There is a reason why Mother chose you," he says. "There's a reason why you chose here, and if you are to be my student, then you will be Robin." 

She turns to them all, a very concerned look on her face. “Is...is this a requirement?”

“No,” Tim says before anyone else. “Training, yes, but you don’t have to be Robin unless you want to,” he reassured her. “Contrary to what Damian says, you don’t _have_ to be Robin. Or any other cape. You can just be Jenna.” There is silence again, her eyes going distant as she thinks it over. And- obviously there’s relief, Dick feels, there’s a sense of relief that’s she’s not jumping for joy about being Robin and yet- and yet. 

Of course, Damian is Damian, and never stops without one more fight. He clicks his tongue, getting her attention once again. "You assumed Robin is like an assistant's job, correct?" At her nod, Damian continues. "You are correct that Robin helps Batman, but not only that, they help _protect_ Gotham, and everyone in it. They help the people of Gotham." She nods, absently, thinking it over. She’s studious, Damian notes, watching as she tilts her head in thought, before speaking. “I could-help Dad.” The words are said carefully, cautiously.

"You could," Damian concedes, and yes the others are upset, their voices rising- but he sees that she's entranced, that Drake sees as well, the way he’s keeping silent. Sees Cass merely standing, face and body saying nothing at all. "You could also be the one that helps the other "Replaceables" to use your term, as well. You could be their protector." He's plying with honeyed words, he knows, but he sees how they tempt her, the way her eyes widen as he says the truth: she could be a protector. She could be the one who helps the 'Replaceables' as she would say: she has that capability, he sees that. All she needs is- practice. Training. Diligence. Things that he could help her with. Things he could _teach_ her. 

“I could help you,” Damian looms over her. “Become one of the best Protectors of them all.”

She looks at him, long and hard. 

“Not that I’m not appreciative,” she says, not breaking eye contact. “I want to know the profit and losses first. And- you’re different, so I can’t trust you, not yet.”

A perfect eyebrow lifted up. “I would be disappointed if you did, Miss Drake."

“Miss Drake-Wayne,” Jenna corrects. “It is only proper and polite to use the full surname, Mr. Al Ghul Wayne.”

A flash of irritation flits across dusky skin. “I am going to be your Mentor.”

“And the key phrase is “going to be” Mr. al Ghul-Wayne, which is a future continuous, which means that it _has not happened yet,_ Mr. al Ghul-Wayne.” 

“Oh she’s going to be fun,” Lian grins, snickering at Damian’s look became one of frustration as they both start arguing about the English language. “She’s literally going to be fighting almost every step of the way.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t like people talking down to her,” Tim stares as the bickering morphs into Damian’s outfit, and color palettes vs seasons. Bruce blinks, leaning closer as he taps Tim on the shoulder. "Are you sure this is wise?" He's not trying to start anything, he feels lost, unbalanced, and cool eyes slide over to him after watching the young man and child argue about appropriate behaviors. Lian has gotten involved, easily goading Damian as the girls start tag-teaming verbally. 

"No, not at all," Tim sighs, after a while, leaning back into Bruce's space. Bruce tamps down the surge of relief of that motion. "But at least it'll get Talia off my back for a while- and if anything, Jenna will have training and a minder- not to say that I haven’t been appreciative of everyone stepping in, but if the League is interested…” He trails off, eyes going distant before flashing a smirk to Bruce. “It’ll also keep Damian occupied." 

Bruce gives him a look. "Damian is plenty occupied." 

"Uh-huh," Tim gives his own back. "And has he decided on a college? Or secondary anything?" 

"Hm." He hadn't. It was worryingly like Dick, except Damian seemed perfectly content to brood and train and patrol. Maybe go and languish ("Father, I do not _languish_ ") over at Kent's, talking about his crush ("It's not a _crush_ ") on Colin Wilkes. 

Maybe the girl would help. If anything to stop him from languishing. 

Something hits him on his back. He turns to see Damian glaring at him, the girl had already gone off with Cass. 

"You were thinking it," he says pentuantly, and once again, Bruce wonders if all his children are secretly mind readers. 

"No, you just have an expressional face, once you learn how to read it," Tim says. 

"Hn." Well that's somewhat embarrassing. But he smiles at his second youngest son, and no, they have things to discuss, to fully talk about, but- Tim smiles back, and it’s fragile, delicate, but warm. They’ll talk, they’ll get there.

One day.

But now Bruce lets himself get lost in the flow of the party, sticking close to Kate’s side as the conversation trickles into more mundane means. He keeps silent as Alfred quietly guides him to help clean plates and dishes, enjoying some time alone with the man who raised him, who was his second father. He smiles as Duke and Steph get into a debate about who had the strangest patrol, Damian and Dick interjecting every so often. He actually has a nice conversation with Roy about some alien tech that appeared, listening as Roy voiced his own opinions and wisdom, Jason leaning against the wall near the redhead, a fond look in his eye. Bruce lets himself be one with the family, just for a moment. Bruce lets himself be guided, as Steph declares (demands) a group photo, Tim taking the lead as he orchestrates all of them into the poses. He’s in the back, standing next to Dick, as Kate stands by him, and in front of him are Steph, Cass, Duke, Barbara. Down in the very front, Jenna's talking animatedly to Lian placed by her left, Harper, Cullen, Damian, staged in front as well. Roy has taken a place next to Kate, and Bruce feels a presence by his left. 

“Scoot over, old man,” comes a rough, smoke-laden voice, and he shifts, feeling a curl of warmth with his eldest, his first two sons, next to him, _willingly_ next to him. 

There is something like hope blooming in his chest.

Tim runs back as they finalize their poses, heading to kneel by his- by his daughter, Bruce's _granddaughter._ All around Bruce, there are smiles, or at least looks of resigned compliance (Damian) as they lean in closer, murmur amongst themselves. He never thought he would have this. 

The camera beeps. 

“Smile!”

* * *

“What are you looking at?”

“Hm?” Bruce glances over to see twin green eyes looking curiously at him, looking away from the Batcomputer. 

“You were smiling,” Damian replies. “You don’t usually smile when we’re down here.”

“I smile,” he says, affronted, frowning when the young teen girl perched over Damian, shakes her head. She's balancing on top of the Batchair, half hunched over, almost like a parrot. Her current uniform solidifies that look, the vibrant reds, greens, and yellows not hidden by the black cape draped beside Damian’s left arm. “The last time you smiled in the BatCave was two months ago, at 8:04pm, Eastern Standard Time. The time before that-”

“I was smiling,” he interrupts, not eager to hear how few times he smiled, “At this photo.” He holds up the picture, the same one he’d been reminiscing on. 

“Oh,” The girl leaps down, grabbing and putting on her cape with a flourish that Bruce swears he'd seen one of his children once. Steph, maybe. “My surprise party.”

“Your adoption party,” Damian corrects, pushing away and standing up with a flourish, straightening his own cape. Jenna rolls her eyes. “Both Dad and I weren’t made aware of it, and at least one guest came uninvited, I met you, Uncle Dick, and B at the same time, all three of you were unaware of my existence pretty much before then, and several revelations were made. Also you offered me the role of Robin, which I was not expecting. It was a surprise party.” Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Tt. Do your final check, Drakling,” Damian swipes at her head, a flicker of amusement on his face as she clicks her tongue back and runs off. His son turns to him. “Will you be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he gestures to the sling, the reason he’s not going out for patrol tonight. “It’s just a sprain. Alfred and Stephanie had checked it. I’ll be healed in no time at all.”

“Yes well, your bones aren’t as dense as they were in your youth, Father. Though your skull might forever be.” Bruce snorts, going to swat his son as the younger man snickers and goes to check the Batmobile on final time. Damian was right though; he was truly feeling his age, and his folly of his youth more and more each day. He remembers once, mentioning to Kate about how he assumed that the mantle would die with him, that Batman leads everyone down a dark path, a path filled with blood and pain, how he wanted his children to rise above that. 

He still believes that. 

And yet, as he watches Damian finish his own checks, as he pulls on the gloves, pulls on the cowl, the cape billowing out from behind him, Bruce can’t help but smile. He’s a bit sad, yes, but- Damian stands tall and strong in the cape. And for a moment- 

Bruce can see why Gotham loves her Bats. 

Jenna comes running back, cape and cowl firmly in place. Damian clicks his tongue at the cowl. “When will you cease that cowl of yours and get a proper mask?”

“When you get rid of yours, Mr. Why-Won’t-Colin-Notice-My-Silk-Shirt.” That causes Batman to pause, turning with wide eyes at the pleased Robin.

“That- _have you been eavesdropping on my conversations again?”_ The bats chitter above, startled by the octave of Damian’s voice. 

“You were shouting in your room with the window wide open; it's not eavesdropping if said person is shouting his grievances to the rooftops,” Jenna smiles sweetly at her blustering Mentor’s face. 

_“You little shit-”_

“Also you misused the word pulchritudinous.” 

Bruce snorts as he watches the two bicker, but there was a smirk on Jenna’s face, and Damian wasn’t even throwing out a single threat. Granted, she’ll probably regret listening when Damian figures out an appropriate revenge, but he can enjoy how much they’ve grown. How they've all grown. Black Bat was back in Hong Kong, but Nightwing was already out with Spoiler; he had heard them crack puns on the comms as they intervened on a drug bust earlier. Red Hood was busy helping Arsenal in Star City, and Bluebird was with Signal working out on the West Coast as well. He’d gotten a text from Kate earlier, mentioning about London and the trafficking ring she was following, talking about when she returned, perhaps having a get-together. Red Robin left earlier for his patrol, promising to meet up with them later; compare notes, he’d said, but really it was to just see how Jenna was doing, check up on his own little bird.

His family was in flight, and had grown so big, so strong, but they would always come back to roost, he thinks fondly as he watches Damian, cooled down, smirk confidently down at the girl, the teen, the successor. “Ready, Robin?” Jenna nods at him, before looking forward.

“Ready, Batman!”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I have. So many thought processes and words. 
> 
> First One: THIS ALMOST MURDERED ME JFC. I low-key hate some of the pacing but in other places I love and I just. Why did I decided that yes, all three of these fuckers should be grouped together? 
> 
> I'm a little worried that Dick is too OOC, but at the same time, I literally found two comic panels with him catastrophizing to Wally, so. [shrugs]
> 
> And I know not everything is wrapped up neatly, but it wasn't the plan to wrap up everything neatly. The goal was hope. And kid. 
> 
> I don't know if anyone will be happy about her being Robin. I kind of assumed that she would eventually take on the mantle- Carrie is here, in this universe, but she's 52!Carrie and I have some scourges of a plot that I might do involving Damian and Carrie being bros together. But there's plans for this universe. I want to explore more about the different relationships of everyone, and just. I have ideas- I need to finish some others, but I'm not going away. I mean, Talia, y'all. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's read this. All the comments, kudos, bookmarks- even just you reading this to the end, thank you for reading and enjoying my work. I appreciate every single one of you. 
> 
> Now if y'all excuse me, I gotta go and work on a production- I'm back on the wagon, and volunteering, but it's good to be back in black, y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked hard on this y'all. This was a bug that wouldn't go away.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
